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Class JP^S, 
Book !J5_ 



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THE 

ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS 

/as- 

OF THE 

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 



DELIVERED IN ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, AND THE UNITED STATES OF 
AMERICA. 



W. M. THACKEEAY, ESQ. 

OF "TB 



AUTHOR OF " THE VIBGINUNS," " ESMOND," " VANITY FAIR," *' PENDENNIS," 
ETC., ETC. 



LONDON: 

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 

1866. 






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' i43 




CONTENTS. 



Lecture the First. 

PAGE 

SWIFT 1 



Lecture the Second. 
CONGREVE AND ADDISON 59 

Lecture the Third. 
STEELE Ill 

Lecture the Fourth. 
PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE 170 

Lecture the Fifth. 
HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING . . .233 

Lecture the Sixth. 
STERNE AND GOLDSMITH ...... 286 



TIE ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS 



OF THE 



EIGHTEENTH CENTUEY. 



LECTURE THE FIRST. 

SWIFT. 

In treating of the English humourists of the past 
age, it is of the men and of their lives, rather than 
of their books, that I ask permission to speak to you ; 
and in doing so, you are aware that I cannot hope to 
entertain you with a merely humourous or facetious 
story. Harlequin without his mask is known to 
present a very sober countenance, and was himself, the 
story goes, the melancholy patient whom the Doctor 
advised to go and see Harlequin 1 — a man full of 
cares and perplexities like the rest of us, whose Self 
must always be serious to him, under whatever mask 

1 The anecdote is frequently told of our performer, Rich. 

B 



2 ENGLISH HTTMOUKISm 

or disguise, or uniform he presents it to the public. 
And as all of you here must needs be grave when you 
think of your own past and present, you will not look 
to find, in the histories of those whose lives and feel- 
ings I am going to try and describe to you, a story 
that is otherwise than serious, and often very sad. 
If Humour only meant laughter, you would scarcely 
feel more interest about humourous writers than 
about the private life of poor Harlequin just mentioned, 
who possesses in common with these the power of 
making you laugh. But the men regarding whose 
lives and stories your kind presence here shows that 
you have curiosity and sympathy, appeal to a great 
number of our other faculties, besides our mere sense 
of ridicule. The humourous writer professes to 
awaken and direct your love, your pity, your kind- 
ness — your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture — 
your tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, 
the unhappy. To the best of his means and ability 
he comments on all the ordinary actions and passions 
of life almost. He takes upon himself to be the 
w r eek-day preacher, so to speak. Accordingly, as he 
finds, and speaks, and feels the truth best, we regard 
him, esteem him — sometimes love him. And, as his 
business is to mark other people's lives and peculiari- 
ties, w r e moralise upon his life when he is gone — and 
yesterday's preacher becomes the text for to-day's 
sermon. 



SWIFT. 3 

Of English parents, and of a good English family 
of clergymen, 1 Swift was born in Dublin in 1667, 
seven months after the death of his father, who had 
come to practise there as a lawyer. The boy went 
to school at Kilkenny, and afterwards to Trinity 
College, Dublin, where he got a degree with difficulty, 
/and was wild, and witty, and poor. In 1688, by the 
recommendation of his mother, Swift was received 
into the family of Sir William Temple, who had 
known Mrs. Swift in Ireland. He left his patron in 
1693, and the next year took orders in Dublin. But 
he threw up the small Irish preferment which he got 
and returned to Temple, in whose family he remained 
until Sir William's death in 1699. His hopes of 

1 He was from a younger branch of the Swifts of Yorkshire. 
His grandfather, the Kev. Thomas Swift, Vicar of Goodrich, in 
Herefordshire, suffered for his loyalty in Charles I.'s time. That 
gentleman married Elizabeth Dry den, a member of the family of 
the poet. Sir Walter Scott gives, with his characteristic minute- 
ness in such points, the exact relationship between these famous 
men. Swift was "the son of Dryden's second cousin." Swift, too, 
was the enemy of Dryden's reputation. "Witness the " Battle of 
the Books:" — " The difference was greatest among the horse," says 
he of the moderns, " where every private trooper pretended to the 
command, from Tasso and Milton to Dryden and Withers." And 
in " Poetry, a Bhapsody," he advises the poetaster to — 
" Bead all the Prefaces of Dryden, 
Por these our critics much confide in, 
Though merely writ, at first, for filling, 
To raise the volume's price a shilling." 
" Cousin Swift, you will never be a poet," was the phrase of 
Dryden to his kinsman, which remained alive in a memory tens- 
cious of such matters, 

B 2 



4 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

advancement in England failing, Swift returned to 
Ireland, and took the living of Laracor. Hither he 
invited Hester Johnson, 1 Temple's natural daughter, 
with whom he had contracted a tender friendship, 
while they were both dependents of Temple's. And 
with an occasional visit to England, Swift now passed 
nine years at home. 

In 1709 he came to England, and, with a brief 
visit to Ireland, during which he took possession of 
his deanery of St. Patrick, he now passed five years 
in England, taking the most distinguished part in 
the political transactions which terminated with the 
death of Queen Anne. After her death, his party 
disgraced, and his hopes of ambition over, Swift 
returned to Dublin, where he remained twelve years. 
In this time he wrote the famous " Drapier's Letters" 
and " Gulliver's Travels." He married Hester John- 
son, Stella, and buried Esther Yanhomrigh, Vanessa, 
who had followed him to Ireland from London, where 
she had contracted a violent passion for him. In 
1726 and 1727 Swift was in England, which he 
quitted for the last time on hearing of his wife's 
illness. Stella died in January, 1728, and Swift not 
until 1745, having passed the last five of the seventy- 



1 " Miss Hetty " she was called in the family — where her face, 
and her dress, and Sir William's treatment of her, all made the 
real fact about her birth plain enough. Sir William left her a 
thousand pounds. 



SWIFT. 5 

eight years of his life with an impaired intellect and 
keepers to watch him. 1 

You know, of course, that Swift has had many 
biographers; his life has been told by the kindest 
and most good-natured of men, Scott, who admires 
but can't bring himself to love him; and by 
stout old Johnson, 2 who, forced to admit him into 



1 Sometimes, during his mental affliction, he continued walking 
about the house for many consecutiye hours ; sometimes he re- 
mained in a kind of torpor. At times, he would seem to struggle 
to bring into distinct consciousness, and shape into expression, 
the intellect that lay smothering under gloomy obstruction in him. 
A pier-glass falling by accident, nearly fell on him. He said, he 
wished it had ! He once repeated, slowly, several times, " I am 
what I am." The last thing he wrote was an epigram on the 
building of a magazine for arms and stores, which was pointed 
out to him as he went abroad during his mental disease: — 

Behold a proof of Irish sense : 

Here Irish wit is seen ; 
When nothing's left that's worth defence, 

They build a magazine ! 

2 Besides these famous books of Scott's and Johnson's, there is 
a copious " Life" by Thomas Sheridan (Dr. Johnson's " Sherry"), 
father of Richard Brinsley, and son of that good-natured, clever, 
Irish, Dr. Thomas Sheridan, Swift's intimate, who lost his chap- 
laincy by so unluckily choosing for a text on the king's birthday, 
" Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof ! " Not to mention 
less important works, there is also the " Remarks on the Life and 
Writings of Dr. Jonathan Swift," by that polite and dignified 
writer, the Earl of Orrery. His lordship is said to have striven 
for literary renown, chiefly that he might make up for the slight 
passed on him by his father, who left his library away from him. 
It is to be feared that the ink he used to wash out that stain only 
made it look bigger. He had, however, known Swift, and corre- 



6 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the company of poets, receives the famous Irish- 
man, and takes off his hat to him with a bow 
of surly recognition, scans him from head to foot, 
and passes over to the other side of the street. 
Dr. Wilde of Dublin, 1 who has written a most in- 
teresting volume on the closing years of Swift's 
life, calls Johnson (l the most malignant of his 
biographers:" it is not easy for an English critic 
to please Irishmen — perhaps to try and please them. 
And yet Johnson truly admires Swift : Johnson 
does not quarrel with Swift's change of politics, 
or doubt his sincerity of religion : about the famous 
Stella and Yanessa controversy the Doctor does not 
bear very hardly on Swift. But he could not give 



sponded with people who knew him. His work (which appeared 
in 1751) provoked a good deal of controversy, calling out, among 
other brochures, the interesting " Observations on Lord Orrery's 
Remarks," &c, of Dr. Delany. 

1 Dr. Wilde's book was written on the occasion of the remains 
of Swift and Stella being brought to the light of day — a thing 
which happened in 1835, when certain works going on in St. 
Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, afforded an opportunity of their being 
examined. One hears with surprise of these skulls " going the 
rounds" of houses, and being made the objects of dilettante curi- 
osity. The larynx of Swift was actually carried off! Phreno- 
logists had a low opinion of his intellect, from the observations 
they took. 

Dr. Wilde traces the symptoms of ill-health in Swift, as detailed 
in his writings from time to time. He observes, likewise, that the 
skull gave evidence of " diseased action" of the brain during life — 
such as would be produced by an increasing tendency to " cerebral 
congestion." 



SWIFT. 7 

the Dean that honest hand of his ; the stout old man 
puts it into his breast, and moves oft from him. 1 

Would we have liked to live with him ? That is 
a question which, in dealing with these people's 
works, and thinking of their lives and peculiarities, 
every reader of biographies must put to himself. 
Would you have liked to be a friend of the great 
Dean ? I should like to have been Shakspeare's shoe- 
black — -just to have lived in his house, just to have 
worshipped him — to have run on his errands, and 
seen that sweet serene face. I should like, as a 
young man, to have lived on Fielding's staircase in 
the Temple, and after helping him up to bed perhaps, 
and opening his door with his latch-key, to have 
shaken hands with him in the morning, and heard 
him talk and crack jokes over his breakfast and his 
mug of small beer. Who would not give something 
to pass a night at the club with Johnson, and Gold- 
smith, and James Boswell, Esq., of Aucliinleck? 
The charm of Addison's companionship and conver- 
sation has passed to us by fond tradition — but Swift ? 
If you had been his inferior in parts (and that, with 
a great respect for all persons present, I fear is only 
very likely), his equal in mere social station, he 

1 " He [Dr. Johnson] seemed to me to have an unaccountable 
prejudice against Swift ; for I once took the liberty to ask bim if 
Swift had personally offended him, and he told me he had not." — 
Boswell's Tour to the Hebrides. 



8 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

would have bullied, scorned, and insulted you; if, 
undeterred by his great reputation, you had met him 
like a man, he would have quailed before you, 1 and 
not had the pluck to reply, and gone home, and 
years after written a foul epigram about you — 
watched for you in a sewer, and come out to assail 
you with a coward's blow and a dirty bludgeon. If 
you had been a lord with a blue riband, who flattered 
his vanity, or could help his ambition, he would have 
been the most delightful company in the world. He 
would have been so manly, so sarcastic, so bright, odd, 

1 <Few men, to be sure, dared this experiment, but yet their 
success was encouraging. One gentleman made a point of asking 
the Dean, whether his uncle Godwin had not given him his 
education. Swift, who hated that subject cordially, and, indeed, 
cared little for his kindred, said, sternly, " Yes ; he gave me the 
education of a dog." " Then, sir," cried the otber, striking his 
fist on the table, " you have not the gratitude of a dog ! " 

Other occasions there were when a bold face gave the Dean 
pause, even after his Irish almost-royal position was established. 
But he brought himself into greater danger on a certain occasion, 
and the amusing circumstances may be once more repeated here. 
He had unsparingly lashed the notable Dublin lawyer, Mr. Serjeant 
Bettesworth — 

" So, at the bar, the booby Bettesworth, 
Though half-a-crown out-pays his sweat's worth, 
Who knows in law nor text nor margent, 
Calls Singleton his brother- serj eant !" 
The Serjeant, it ia said, swore to have his life. He presented 
himself at the deanery. The Dean asked his name. " Sir, I am 
Serjeant Bett-es-worth." 

" In what regiment, pray?" asked Swift. 

A guard of volunteers formed themselves to defend the Dean 
at this time. 



SWIFT. 9 

and original, that you might think he had no object 
in view but the indulgence of his humour, and that 
he was the most reckless, simple creature in the world. 
How he would have torn your enemies to pieces 
for you ! and made fun of the Opposition ! His 
servility was so boisterous that it looked like inde- 
pendence; 1 he would have done your errands, but 
with the air of patronizing you, and after fighting 
your battles masked in the street or the press, would 
have kept on his hat before your wife and daughters 
in the drawing-room, content to take that sort of pay 
for his tremendous services as a bravo. 2 

1 " But, my Hamilton, I will never hide the freedom of my 
sentiments from you. I am much inclined to believe that the 
temper of my friend Swift might occasion his English friends to 
wish him happily and properly promoted at a distance. His 
spirit, for I would give it the proper name, was ever untractable. 
The motions of his genius were often irregular. He assumed 
more the air of a patron than of a friend. He affected rather 
to dictate than advise." — Orbeet. 

2 .... " An anecdote which, though only told by Mrs. Pilking- 
ton, is well attested, bears, that the last time he was in London 
he went to dine with the Earl of Burlington, who was but newly 
married. The Earl, it is supposed, being willing to have a little 
diversion, did not introduce him to his lady nor mention his name. 
After dinner said the Dean, 'Lady Burlington, I hear you can 
sing ; sing me a song.' The lady looked on this unceremonious 
manner of asking a favour with distaste, and positively refused. 
He said, * She should sing, or he would make her. Why, madam, 
I suppose you take me for one of your poor English hedge- 
parsons ; sing when I bid you.' As the Earl did nothing but 
laugh at this freedom, the lady was so vexed that she burst into 
tears and retired. His first compliment to her when he saw her 
again was, ' Pray, madam, are you as proud and ill-natured now 



10 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

He says as much himself in one of his letters to 
Bolingbroke : — " All my endeavours to distinguish 
myself were only for want of a great title and for- 
tune, that I might be used like a lord by those who 
have an opinion of my parts ; whether right or wrong 
is no great matter. And so the reputation of wit 
and great learning does the office of a blue riband or 
a coach and six. " x 

Could there be a greater candour ? It is an outlaw, 
who says, " These are my brains ; with these I '11 
win titles and compete with fortune. These are my 
bullets ; these I '11 turn into gold ; " and he hears 
the sound of coaches and six, takes the road like 



as 'when I saw you last? ' To which she answered with great 
good-humour, ' No, Mr. Dean ; 1 : 11 sing for you if you please.' 
From which time he conceived a great esteem for her." — Scott's 
Life "He had not the least tincture of vanity in his con- 
versation. He was, perhaps, as he said himself, too proud to be 
vain. When he was polite, it was in a manner entirely his own. 
In his friendships he was constant and undisguised. He was the 
same in his enmities." — Orkekt. 

1 " I make no figure but at court, where I affect to turn from a 
lord to the meanest of my acquaintances." — Journal to Stella. 

" 1 am plagued with bad authors, verse and prose, who send me 
their books and poems, the vilest I ever saw; but I have given 
their names to my man, never to let them see me." — Journal to 
Stella. 

The following curious paragraph illustrates the life of a 
courtier: — 

"Did I ever tell you that the Lord Treasurer hears ill with the 
left ear just as I do? .... I dare not tell him that I am so, sir; 
for fear he should think that 1 counterfeited to make my court!" — 
Journal to Stella. 



SWIFT. 11 

Macheath, and makes society stand and deliver. 
They are all on their knees before him. Down go 
my lord bishop's apron, and his Grace's blue riband, 
and my lady's brocade petticoat in the mud. He 
eases the one of a living, the other of a patent place, 
the third of a little snng post about the Court, and 
gives them over to followers of his own. The great 
prize has not come yet. The coach with the mitre 
and crosier in it, which he intends to have for his 
share, has been delayed on the way from St. James's ; 
and he waits and waits until nightfall, when his 
runners come and tell him that the coach has taken 
a different road, and escaped him. So he fires his 
pistols into the air with a curse, and rides away into 
his own country. 1 



1 The war of pamphlets was carried on fiercely on one side and 
the other: and the Whig attacks made the ministry Swift served 
very sore. Bolingbroke laid hold of several of the Opposition 
pamphleteers, and bewails their ii factitiousness " in the following 
letter: 

" Bolingbroke to the Earl of Stratford. 

" Whitehall, July 23rd, 1712. 
" It i| a melancholy consideration that the laws of our country 
are too weak to punish effectually those factitious scribblers, who 
presume to blacken the brightest characters, and to give even 
scurrilous language to those who are in the first degrees of honour. 
This, my lord, among others, is a symptom of the decayed cod 
dition of our government, and serves to show how fatally we 
mistake licentiousness for liberty. All I could do was to take up 
Hart, the printer, to send him to Newgate, and to bind him over 
upon bail to be prosecuted; this I have done; and if I can arrive 



12 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Swift's seems to me to be as good a name to point 
a moral or adorn a tale of ambition, as any hero's 
that ever lived and failed. But we mnst remember 
that the morality was lax — that other gentlemen 
besides himself took the road in his day — that 
public society was in a strange disordered condition, 
and the State was ravaged by other condottieri. 
The Boyne was being fought and won, and lost — 



at legal proof against the author Ridpath, he shall have the 
treatment." 

Swift was not behind his illustrious friend in this virtuous 
indignation. In the history of the four last years of the Queen, 
the Dean speaks in the most edifying manner of the licentious- 
ness of the press and the abusive language of the other party: 

" It must be acknowledged that the bad practices of printers 
have been such as to deserve the severest animadversion from 

the public The adverse party, full of rage and leisure 

since their fall, and unanimous in their cause, employ a set of 
writers by subscription, who are well versed in all the topics 
of defamation, and have a style and genius levelled to the gene- 
rality of their readers However, the mischiefs of the 

press were too exorbitant to be cured by such a remedy as a tax 
upon small papers, and a bill for a much more effectual regulation 
of it was brought into the House of Commons, but so late in the 
session that there was no time to pass it, for there always appeared 
an unwillingness to cramp overmuch the liberty of the press." 

But to a clause in the proposed bill, that the names of authors 
should be set to every printed book, pamphlet, or paper, his 
reverence objects altogether, for, says he, "beside the objection 
to this clause from the practice of pious men, who, in publishing 
excellent writings for the service of religion, have chosen, out of 
an humble Christian spirit, to conceal their names, it is certain that 
all persons of true genius or knowledge have an invincible modesty 
and suspicion of themselves upon first sending their thoughts into 
the world." 



SWIFT. 13 

the bells rung in William's victory, in the very 
same tone with which they would have pealed for 
James's. Men were loose upon politics, and had to 
shift for themselves. They, as well as old beliefs 
and institutions, had lost their moorings and gone 
adrift in the storm. As in the South Sea Bubble 
almost every body gambled ; as in the Railway mania 
— not many centuries ago — almost every one took his 
unlucky share; a man of that time, of the vast 

This "invincible modesty" was no doubt the sole reason which 
induced the Dean to keep the secret of the " Drapier's Letters" and 
a hundred humble Christian works of which he was the author. As 
for the Opposition, the Doctor was for dealing severely with them: 
he writes to Stella: — 

Journal. Letter XIX. 

" London, March 25th, 1710-11. 

" We have let Guiscard be buried at last, after showing 

him pickled in a trough this fortnight for twopence a piece; and 
the fellow that showed would point to his body and say, 'See, 
gentlemen, this is the wound that was given him by his Grace the 
Duke of Ormond; ' and, 'This is the wound,' &c; and then the 
show was over, and another set of rabble came in. 'Tis hard 
that our laws would not suffer us to hang his body in chains, 
because he«was not tried; and in the eye of the law every man 
is innocent till then." * * * * 

Journal. Letter XXVII. 

"London, July 25th, 1711. 
"I was this afternoon with Mr. Secretary at his office, and 
helped to hinder a man of his pardon, who is condemned for a 
rape. The Under Secretary was willing to save him; but I told 
the Secretary he could not pardon him without a favourable 
report from the Judge; besides he was a fiddler, and consequently 
a rogue, and deserved hanging for something else, and so he shall 
•wing." 



14 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

talents and ambition of Swift, conld scarce do other- 
wise than grasp at his prize, and make his spring at 
his opportunity. His bitterness, his scorn, his rage, 
his subsequent misanthropy, are ascribed by some 
panegyrists to a deliberate conviction of mankind's 
unworthiness, and a desire to amend them by casti- 
gating. His youth was bitter, as that of a great 
genius bound down by ignoble ties, and powerless in 
a mean dependence ; his age was bitter, 1 like that of 
a great genius that had fought the battle and nearly 
won it, and lost it, and thought of it afterwards writh- 
ing in a lonely exile. A man may attribute to the 
gods, if he likes, what is caused by his own fury, or 
disappointment, or self-will. "What public man — 
what statesman projecting a coup — what king deter- 
mined on an invasion of his neighbour — what satirist 
meditating an onslaught on society or an individual, 
can't give a pretext for his move? There was a 
French general the other day who proposed to march 
into this country and put it to sack and pillage, in 
revenge for humanity outraged by our conduct at 
Copenhagen — there is always some excuse for men 
of the aggressive turn. They are of their nature 
warlike, predatory, eager for fight, plunder, do- 
minion. 2 

1 It -was his constant practice to keep his birth-day as a day of 
mourning. 

2 " These devils of Grub-street rogues, that \vrite the Flying-Post 



SWIFT. 15 

As fierce a beak and talon as ever struck — as 
strong a wing as ever beat, belonged to Swift. I am 
glad, for one, that fate wrested the prey out of his 
claws, and cut his wings and chained him. One can 
gaze, and not without awe and pity, at the lonely 
eagle chained behind the bars. 

That Swift was born at No. 7, Hoey's-court, Dub- 
lin, on the 30th November, 1667, is a certain fact, of 
which nobody will deny the sister island the honour 
and glory ; but, it seems to me, he was no more an 
Irishman than a man born of English parents at 
Calcutta is a Hindoo. 1 Goldsmith was an Irishman, 

and Medley in one paper, will not be quiet. They are always 
mauling Lord Treasurer, Lord Bolingbroke, and me. We have 
the dog under prosecution, but Bolingbroke is not active enough ; 
but I hope to swinge him. He is a Scotch rogue, one Bidpath. 
They get out upon bail, and write on. We take them again, and 
get fresh bail; so it goes round." — Journal to Stella. 

1 Swift was by no means inclined to forget such considerations; 
and his English birth makes its mark, strikingly enough, every 
now and then in his writings. Thus in a letter to Pope (Scott's 
Swift, vol. xix. p. 97), he says — 

" We have had your volume of letters .... Some of those who 
highly value you, and a few who knew you personally, are grieved 
to find you make no distinction between the English gentry of this 
kingdom, and the savage old Irish (who are only the vulgar, and 
some gentlemen who live in the Irish parts of the kingdom); but 
the English colonies, who are three parts in four, are much more 
civilized than many counties in England, and speak better English, 
and are much better bred." 

And again, in the fourth Drapier's Letter, we have the follow- 
ing:— 

" A short paper, printed at Bristol, and reprinted here, reports 
Mr. Wood to say ' that he wonders at U\e impudence and insolence 



16 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

and always an Irishman : Steele was an Irishman, and 
always an Irishman : Swift's heart was English and 
in England, his habits English, his logic eminently 
English; his statement is elaborately simple; he 
shuns tropes and metaphors, and uses his ideas and 
words with a wise thrift and economy, as he used his 
money ; with which he could be generous and splen- 
did upon great occasions, but which he husbanded 
when there was no need to spend it. He never 
indulges in needless extravagance of rhetoric, lavish 
epithets, profuse imagery. He lays his opinion be- 
fore you with a grave simplicity and a perfect neat- 
ness. 1 Dreading ridicule too, as a man of his humour 



of the Irish, in refusing his coin.' When by the way, it is the true 
English people of Ireland who refuse it, although we take it for 
granted that the Irish will do so too whenever they are asked." — 
Scott's Swift, vol. iv. p. 143. 

He goes further, in a good-humoured satirical paper, " On Bar- 
barous Denominations in Ireland," where (after abusing, as he was 
wont, the Scotch cadence, as well as expression,) he advances to 
the "Irish brogue" and speaking of the " censure" which it brings 
down, says: — 

" And what is yet worse, it is too well known that the bad con- 
sequence of this opinion affects those among us who are not the 
least liable to such reproaches farther than the misfortune of being 
born in Ireland, although of English parents, and whose education 
has been chiefly in that kingdom." — Ibid. vol. vii. p. 149. 

But, indeed, if we are to make anything of Bace at all, we must 
call that man an Englishman whose father comes from an old York- 
shire family, and his mother from an old Leicestershire one ! 

1 " The style of his conversation was very much of a piece with 
that of his writings, concise and clear and strong. Being one day 
at a Sheriff's feast, who amongst other toasts called out to him, 



SWIFT. 17 

— above all an Englishman of his humour — certainly 
would, he is afraid to use the poetical power which 
he really possessed; one often fancies in reading him 
that he dares not be eloquent when he might ; that 
he does not speak above his voice, as it were, and the 
tone of society. 

His initiation into politics, his knowledge of busi- 
ness, his knowledge of polite life, his acquaintance 
with literature even, which he could not have pursued 
very sedulously during that reckless career at Dublin, 
Swift got under the roof of Sir William Temple. He 
was fond of telling in after life what quantities of 
books he devoured there, and how King William 
taught him to cut asparagus in the Dutch fashion. 
It was at Shene and at Moor Park, with a salary of 
twenty pounds and a dinner at the upper servants' 
table, that this great and lonely Swift passed a ten 
years' apprenticeship — wore a cassock that was only 

'Mr. Dean, The trade of Ireland! ' He answered quick: 'Sir, I 
drink no memories ! ' 

" Happening to be in company with a petulant young man who 
prided himself on saying pert things . . . and who cried out — ' You 
must know, Mr. Dean, that I set up for a wit? ' ' Do you so,' says 
the Dean, ' take my advice, and sit down again ! ' 

"At another time, being in company, where a lady whisking her 
long train [long trains were then in fashion] swept down a fine 
fiddle and broke it ; Swift cried out — 

" Mantua vae miserae nimium vicina Cremonae ! " 

— Dr. Delany. Observations upon Lord Orrery's " Remarks, Sfc. i} 
in Swift. London, 1754. 





18 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

not a livery — bent down a knee as proud as Lucifer's 
to supplicate my lady's good graces, or run on his 
honour's errands. 1 It was here, as he was writing at 
Temple's table, or following his patron's walk, that 
he saw and heard the men who had governed the 
great world — measured himself with them, looking up 
from his silent corner, gauged their brains, weighed 
their wits, turned them, and tried them, and marked 
them. Ah ! what platitudes he must have heard ! 
what feeble jokes! what pompous commonplaces! 
what small men they must have seemed under those 
enormous periwigs, to the swarthy, uncouth, silent 
Irish secretary. I wonder whether it ever struck 
Temple that that Irishman was his master ? I sup- 
pose that dismal conviction did not present itself under 
the ambrosial wig, or Temple could never have lived 
with Swift. Swift sickened, rebelled, left the service 
- — ate humble pie and came back again ; and so for 
ten years went on, gathering learning, swallowing 
scorn, and submitting with a stealthy rage to his 
fortune. 

Temple's style is the perfection of practised and 
easy good-breeding. If he does not penetrate very 



1 "Don't you remember how I used to be in pain when Sir 
William Temple would look cold and out of humour for three 
or four days, and I used to suspect a hundred reasons? I have 
plucked up my spirits since then, faith ; he spoiled a fine gentle- 
man." — Journal to Stella. 



SWIFT. 19 

deeply into a subject, he professes a very gentlemanly 
acquaintance with it; if he makes rather a parade 
of Latin, it was the custom of his day, as it was the 
custom for a gentleman to envelope his head in a 
periwig and his hands in lace ruffles. If he wears 
buckles and square-toed shoes, he steps in them with 
a consummate grace, and you never hear their creak, 
or find them treading upon any lady's train or any 
rival's heels in the Court crowd. When that grows 
too hot or too agitated for him, he politely leaves it. 
He retires to his retreat of Shene or Moor Park ; 
and lets the King's party, and the Prince of Orange's 
party battle it out among themselves. He reveres 
the Sovereign (and no man perhaps ever testified to 
his loyalty by so elegant a bow); he admires the 
Prince of Orange ; bat there is one person whose 
ease and comfort he loves more than all the princes 
in Christendom, and that valuable member of society 
is himself Gulielmus Temple, Baronettus. One sees 
him in his retreat ; between his study-chair and his 
tulip beds, 1 clipping his apricots and pruning his 



1 . . . " The Epicureans were more intelligible in their notion, 
and fortunate in their expression, when they placed a man's happi- 
ness in the tranquillity of his mind and indolence of body ; for 
while we are composed of both, I doubt both must have a share 
in the good or ill we feel. As men of several languages say the 
same things in very different words, so in several ages, countries, 
constitutions of laws and religion, the same thing seems to be 
meant by very different expressions ; what is called by the Stoic3 
apathy, or dispassion; by the sceptics, indisturbance j by the 

C % 



20 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

essays, — the statesman, the ambassador no more; 
but the philosopher, the Epicurean, the fine gentle- 
man and courtier at St. James's as at Shene; where 
in place of kings and fair ladies, he pays his court to 
the Ciceronian majesty ; or walks a minuet with the 
Epic Muse ; or dallies by the south wall with the 
ruddy nymph of gardens. 

Molinists, quietism ; by common men, peace of conscience, — seems 

all to mean but great tranquillity of mind For this reason 

Epicurus passed his life wholly in his garden : there he studied, 
there he exercised, there he taught his philosophy; and, indeed, no 
other sort of abode seems to contribute so much to both the tran- 
quillity of mind and indolence of body, which he made his chief 
ends. The sweetness of the air, the pleasantness of smell, the ver- 
dure of plants, the cleanness and lightness of food, the exercise of 
working or walking ; but, above all, the exemption from cares and 
solicitude, seem equally to favour and improve both contemplation 
and health, the enjoyment of sense and imagination, and thereby the 

quiet and ease both of the body and mind Where Paradise 

was has been much debated, and little agreed ; but what sort of 
place is meant by it may perhaps easier be conjectured. It seems 
to have been a Persian word, since Xenophon and other Greek 
authors mention it as what was much in use and delight among 
the kings of those eastern countries. Strabo describing Jericho : 
* Ibi est palmetura, cui immixtae sunt etiam alias stirpes hortenses, 
locus ferax palmis abundans, spatio stadiorum centum, totus irri- 
guus, ibi est Kegis Balsami paradisus.' " — Essay on Gardens. 

In the same famous essay Temple speaks of a friend, whose 
conduct and prudence he characteristically admires. 

. ..." I thought it very prudent in a gentleman of my friends 
in Staffordshire, who is a great lover of his garden, to pretend no 
higher, though his soil be good enough, than to the perfection of 
plums ; and in these (by bestowing south walls upon them) he has 
very well succeeded, winch he could never have done in attempts 
upon peaches and grapes ; and a good plum is certainly better than 
an ill peach." 



SWIFT. 21 

Temple seems to have received and exacted a pro- 
digious deal of veneration from his household, and 
to have been coaxed, and warmed, and cuddled by 
the people round about him, as delicately as any of 
the plants which he loved. When he fell ill in 1693, 
the household was aghast at his indisposition; mild 
Dorothea his wife, the best companion of the best of 
men — 

" Mild Dorothea, peaceful, wise, and great, 
Trembling beheld the doubtful hand of fate." 

As for Dorinda, his sister, — 

" Those who would grief describe, might come and trace 
Its watery footsteps in Dorinda's face. 
To see her weep, joy every face forsook, 
And grief flung sables on each menial look. 
The humble tribe mourned for the quickening soul, 
That furnished life and spirit through the whole." 

Isn't that line in which grief is described as putting 
the menials into a mourning livery, a fine image? 
One of the menials wrote it, who did not like that 
Temple livery nor those twenty-pound wages. Can- 
not one fancy the uncouth young servitor, with down- 
cast eyes, books and papers in hand, following at his 
Honour's heels in the garden walk ; or taking his 
Honour's orders as he stands by the great chair, 
where Sir William has the gout, and his feet all 
blistered with moxa ? When Sir William has the 
gout or scolds it must be hard work at the second 



22 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

table; 1 the Irish secretary owned as much after- 
wards: and when he came to dinner, how he must 



1 Swift's Thoughts on Hanging. 
(Directions to Servants.) 

" To grow old in the office of a footman is the highest of all 
indignities ; therefore, when you find years coining on without 
hopes of a place at court, a command in the army, a succession to 
the stewardship, an employment in the revenue (which two last 
you cannot obtain without reading and writing), or running away 
with your master's niece or daughter, I directly advise you to go 
upon the road, which is the only post of honour left you : there 
you will meet many of your old comrades, and live a short life and 
a merry one, and making a figure at your exit, wherein I will give 
you some instructions. 

" The last advice I give you relates to your behaviour when you 
axe going to be hanged ; which, either for robbing your master, 
for housebreaking, or going upon the highway, or in a drunken 
quarrel by killing the first man you meet, may very probably be 
your lot, and is owing to one of these three qualities : either a 
love of good fellowship, a generosity of mind, or too much vivacity 
of spirits. Your good behaviour on this article will concern your 
whole community : deny the fact with all solemnity of impreca- 
tions : a hundred of your brethren, if they can be admitted, will 
attend about the bar, and be ready upon demand to give you a 
character before the Court ; let nothing prevail on you to confess, 
but the promise of a pardon for discovering your comrades : but I 
suppose all this to be in vain ; for if you escape now, your fate 
will be the same another day. Get a speech to be written by the 
best author of Newgate : some of your kind wenches will provide 
you with a holland shirt and white cap, crowned with a crimson 
or black ribbon : take leave cheerfully of all your friends in New- 
gate : mount the cart with courage ; fall on your knees ; lift up 
your eyes ; hold a book in your hands, although you cannot read a 
word ; deny the fact at the gallows ; kiss and forgive the hang- 
man, and so farewell ; you shall be buried in pomp at the charge of 
the fraternity : the surgeon shall not touch a limb of you ; and 
your fame shall continue until a successor of equal renown suc- 
ceeds in your place. ......" 



SWIFT. 23 

have lashed and growled and torn the household with 
his gibes and scorn ! What would the steward say 
about the pride of them Irish schollards — and this 
one had got no great credit even at his Irish college, 
if the truth were known — and what a contempt his 
Excellency's own gentleman must have had for Par- 
son Teague from Dublin. (The valets and chaplains 
were always at war. It is hard to say which Swift 
thought the more contemptible.) And what must 
have been the sadness, the sadness and terror, of the 
housekeeper's little daughter with the curling black 
ringlets and the sweet smiling face, when the secre- 
tary who teaches her to read and write, and whom 
she loves and reverences above all things — above 
mother, above mild Dorothea, above that tremendous 
Sir William in his square-toes and periwig, — when 
Mr. Swift comes down from his master with rage in 
his heart, and has not a kind word even for little 
Hester Johnson ? 

Perhaps, for the Irish secretary, his Excellency's 
condescension was even more cruel than his frowns. 
Sir William would perpetually quote Lathi and the 
ancient classics a propos of his gardens and his Dutch 
statues and plates bandes, and talk about Epicurus 
and Diogenes Laertius, Julius Caesar, Semiramis, and 
the gardens of the Hesperides, Maecenas, Strabo de- 
scribing Jericho, and the Assyrian kings. A propos 
of beans/ he would mention Pythagoras's precept to 



24 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

abstain from beans, and that this precept probably 
meant that wise men should abstain from public 
affairs. He is a placid Epicurean; he is a Pytha- 
gorean philosopher; he is a wise man — that is the 
deduction. Does not Swift think so? One can 
imagine the downcast eyes lifted up for a moment, 
and the flash of scorn which they emit. Swift's eyes 
were as azure as the heavens ; Pope says nobly (as 
everything Pope said and thought of his friend was 
good and noble), " His eyes are as azure as the 
heavens, and have a charming archness in them." 
And one person in that household, that pompous 
stately kindly Moor Park, saw heaven nowhere 
else. 

But the Temple amenities and solemnities did not 
agree with Swift. He was half-killed with a surfeit 
of Shene pippins; and in a garden-seat which he 
devised for himself at Moor Park, and where he de- 
voured greedily the stock of books within his reach, 
he caught a vertigo and deafness which punished 
and tormented him through life. He could not bear 
the place or the servitude. Even in that poem of 
courtly condolence, from which we have quoted a 
few lines of mock melancholy, he breaks out of the 
funereal procession with a mad shriek, as it were, and 
rushes away crying his own grief, cursing his own 
fate, foreboding madness, and forsaken by fortune, 
and even hope. 



SWIIT. 25 

I don't know anything more melancholy than the 
letter to Temple, in which, after having broke from 
his bondage, the poor wretch crouches piteously to- 
wards his cage again, and deprecates his master's 
anger. He asks for testimonials for orders. " The 
particulars required of me are what relate to morals 
and learning; and the reasons of quitting your 
Honour's family — that is whether the last was oc- 
casioned by any ill action. They are left entirely to 
your Honour's mercy, though in the first I think I 
cannot reproach myself for anything further than for 
infirmities. This is all I dare at present beg from 
your Honour, under circumstances of life not worth 
your regard : what is left me to wish (next to the 
health and prosperity of your Honour and family) 
is that Heaven would one day allow me the oppor- 
tunity of leaving my acknowledgments at your feet. 
I beg my most humble duty and service be presented 
to my ladies, your Honour's lady and sister." — Can 
prostration fall deeper ? could a slave bow lower ? * 

1 " He continued in Sir William Temple's house till the death of 
that great man." — Anecdotes of the Family of Swift, by the Dean. 

" It has since pleased God to take this great and good person to 
himself." — Preface to Temple's Works. 

On all public occasions, Swift speaks of Sir William in the same 
tone. But the reader will better understand how acutely he re- 
membered the indignities he suffered in his household, from the 
subjoined extracts from the Journal to Stella: — 

" I called at Mr. Secretary the other day, to see what the d 

ailed him on Sunday : I made him a very proper speech ; told 



28 ENGLISH EUMOUBISm 

Twenty years afterwards Bishop Kennet, describing 
the same man, says, " Dr. Swift came into the coffee- 
house and had a bow from everybody but me. 
When I came to the antechamber [at Court] to wait 
before prayers, Dr. Swift was the principal man of 
talk and business. He was soliciting the Earl of 
Arran to speak to his brother, the Duke of Ormond, 
to get a place for a clergyman. He was promising 
Mr. Thorold to undertake, with my Lord Treasurer, 
that he should obtain a salary of 2001. per annum 
as member of the English Church at Rotterdam. 
He stopped F. Gwynne, Esq., going in to the Queen 



him I observed he was much out of temper, that I did not expect 
he would tell me the cause, but would be glad to see he was in 
better ; and one thing I warned him of — never to appear cold to 
me, for I would not be treated like a schoolboy ; that I had felt 
too much of that in my life already" (meaning Sir William Temple), 
Sec. &c. — Journal to Stella. 

" I am thinking what a veneration we used to have for Sir 
William Temple because he might have been Secretary of State 
at fifty ; and here is a young fellow hardly thirty in that employ- 
ment." — Ibid. 

" The Secretary is as easy with me as Mr. Addison was. I 
have often thought what a splutter Sir William Temple makes 
about being Secretary of State." — Ibid. 

" Lord Treasurer has had an ugly fit of the rheumatism, but is 
now quite well. I was playing at one-and-ihirty with him and his 
family the other night. He gave us all twelvepence apiece to begin 
with ; it put me in mind of Sir William Temple." — Ibid. 

" I thought I saw Jack Temple [nephew to Sir William] and his 
wife pass by me to-day in their coach ; but I took no notice of 
them. I am glad I have wholly shaken off that family." — S. to S., 
Sept., 1710. 



SWIFT. 27 

with the red bag, and told him aloud, he had some- 
thing to say to him from my Lord Treasurer. He 
took out his gold watch, and telling the time of day, 
complained that it was very late. A gentleman said 
he was too fast. f How can I help it,' says the 
doctor, e if the courtiers give me a watch that won't 
go right?' Then he instructed a young nobleman, 
that the best poet in England was Mr. Pope (a 
Papist), who had begun a translation of Homer into 
English, for which he would have them all subscribe ; 
c For,' says he, e he shall not begin to print till I 
have a thousand guineas for him.' 1 Lord Treasurer, 
after leaving the Queen, came through the room, 
beckoning Dr. Swift to follow him, — both went off 
just before prayers." There 's a little malice in the 
Bishop's "just before prayers." 

This picture of the great Dean seems a true one, 
and is harsh, though not altogether unpleasant. He 
was doing good, and to deserving men too, in the 
midst of these intrigues and triumphs. His journals 
and a thousand anecdotes of him relate his kind 



1 " Swift must be allowed," says Dr. Johnson, " for a time, to 
have dictated the political opinions of the English nation." 

A conversation on the Dean's pamphlets excited one of the 
Doctor's liveliest sallies. " One, in particular, praised his ' Con- 
duct of the Allies.' — Johnson: 'Sir, his 'Conduct of the Allies' 

is a performance of very little ability "Why, sir, Tom 

Davies might have written the « Conduct of the Allies ! ' " — Bos- 
Cell's Life of Johnson. 



28 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

acts and rough manners. His hand was constantly 
stretched out to relieve an honest man — he was 
cautious about his money, but ready. — If you were 
in a strait would you like such a benefactor? I 
think I would rather have had a potato and a friendly 
word from Goldsmith than have been beholden to 
the Dean for a guinea and a dinner. 1 He insulted 
a man as he served him, made women cry, guests 
look foolish, bullied unlucky friends, and flung his 
benefactions into poor men's faces. No; the Dean 
was no Irishman — no Irishman ever gave but with 
a kind word and a kind heart. 



1 " Whenever he fell into the company of any person for the 
first time, it was his custom to try their tempers and disposition 
by some abrupt question that bore the appearance of rudeness. 
If this were well taken, and answered with good humour, he 
afterwards made amends by his civilities. But if he saw any 
marks of resentment, from alarmed pride, vanity, or conceit, he 
dropped all further intercourse with the party. This will be illus- 
trated by an anecdote of that sort related by Mrs. Pilkington. 
After supper, the Dean having decanted a bottle of wine, poured 
what remained into a glass, and seeing it was muddy, presented 
it to Mr. Pilkington to drink it. * For,' said he, ' I always keep 
some poor parson to drink the foul wine for me.' Mr. Pilkington, 
entering into his humour, thanked him, and told him 'he did 
not know the difference, but was glad to get a glass at any rate.' 
' Why then,' said the Dean, ' you shan't, for I '11 drink it myself. 

Why, take you, you are wiser than a paltry curate whom I 

asked to dine with me a few days ago; for upon my making the 
same speech to him, he said, he did not understand such usage, 
and so walked off without his dinner. By the same token, I told 
the gentleman who recommended Mm to me, that the fellow was a 
blockhead, and I had done with him.' " — Sheridan's Life of Swift, 



SWOT. 29 

It is told, as if it were to Swift's credit, that the 
Dean of St. Patrick's performed his family devotions 
every morning regularly, but with such secresy, that 
the guests in his house were never in the least aware 
of the ceremony. There was no need surely why a 
church dignitary should assemble his family privily 
in a crypt, and as if he was afraid of heathen perse- 
cution. But I think the world was right, and the 
bishops who advised Queen Anne, when they coun- 
selled her not to appoint the author of the " Tale 
of a Tub" to a bishopric, gave perfectly good advice. 
The man who wrote the arguments and illustrations 
in that wild book, could not but be aware what must 
be the sequel of the propositions which he laid down. 
The boon companion of Pope and Bolingbroke, who 
chose these as the friends of his life, and the re- 
cipients of his confidence and affection, must have 
heard many an argument, and joined in many a con- 
versation over Pope's port, or St. John's Burgundy, 
which would not bear to be repeated at other men's 
boards. 

I know of few things more conclusive as to the 
sincerity of Swift's religion than his advice to poor 
John Gay to turn clergyman, and look out for a seat 
on the Bench. Gay, the author of the " Beggar's 
Opera" — Gay, the wildest of the wits about town — 
it was this man that Jonathan Swift advised to take 
orders — to invest in a cassock and bands — just as 



30 ENGLISH HUBIOTJIilSTS. 

he advised him to husband his shillings and put his 
thousand pounds out at interest. 1 The Queen, and 

1 FEOM THE ARCHBISHOP OP CASHELL. 

" Cashell, May 31st, 1735. 
"DeahSir,— 

" I have been so unfortunate in all my contests of late, that I 
am resolved to have no more, especially where I am likely to be 
overmatched; and as I have some reason to hope what is past 
will be forgotten, I confess I did endeavour in my last to put the 
best colour I could think of upon a very bad cause. My friends 
judge right of my idleness; but, in reality, it has hitherto pro- 
ceeded from a hurry and confusion, arising from a thousand 
unlucky unforeseen accidents rather than mere sloth. I have but 
one troublesome affair now upon my hands, which, by the help 
of the prime serjeant, I hope soon to get rid of; and then you 
shall see me a true Irish bishop. Sir James "Ware has made a 
very useful collection of the memorable actions of my prede- 
cessors. He tells me, they were born in such a town of England 
or Ireland; were consecrated such a year; and, if not translated, 
were buried in the Cathedral church, either on the north or south 
side. Whence I conclude, that a good bishop has nothing more 
to do than to eat, drink, grow fat, rich, and die; which laudable 
example I propose for the remainder of my life to follow; for to 
tell you the truth, I have for these four or five years past met 
with so much treachery, baseness, and ingratitude among man- 
kind, that I can hardly think it incumbent on any man to 
endeavour to do good to so perverse a generation. 

" I am truly concerned at the account you give me of your 
health. Without doubt a southern ramble will prove the best 
remedy you can take to recover your flesh ; and I do not know, 
except in one stage, where you can choose a road so suited to 
your circumstances, as from Dublin hither. You have to Kil- 
kenny a turnpike and good inns, at every ten or twelve miles end. 
From Kilkenny hither is twenty long miles, bad road, and no 
inns at all : but I have an expedient for you. At the foot of a 
very high hill, just midway, there lives in a neat thatched cabin, 
a parson, who is not poor; his wife is allowed to be the best little 
woman in the world. Her chickens are the fattest, and her ale 



SWIFT. 31 

the bishops, aud the world, were right in mistrusting 
the religion of that man. 

I am not here, of course, to speak of any man's 
religious views, except in so far as they influence his 
literary character, his life, his humour. The most 
notorious sinners of all those fellow-mortals whom it 
is our business to discuss — Harry Fielding and Dick 
Steele, were especially loud, and I believe really 
fervent, in their expressions of belief; they be- 
laboured freethinkers, and stoned imaginary atheists 
on all sorts of occasions, going out of their way to 
bawl their own creed, and persecute their neighbour's, 
and if they sinned and stumbled, as they constantly 
did with debt, with drink, with all sorts of bad 



the best in all the country. Besides, the parson has a little cellar 
of his own, of which he keeps the key, where he always has a 
hogshead of the best wine that can be got, in bottles well corked, 
upon their side ; and he cleans, and pulls out the cork better, I 
think, than Kobin. Here I design to meet you with a coach ; if 
you be tired, you shall stay all night; if not, after dinner we will 
set out about four, and be at Cashell by nine ; and by going 
through fields and by-ways, which the parson will show us, we 
shall escape all the rocky and stony roads that lie between 
this place and that, which are certainly very bad. I hope you 
will be so kind as to let me know a post or two before you set 
out, the very day you will be at Kilkenny, that I may have all 
things prepared for you. It may be, if you ask him, Cope will 
come: he will do nothing for me. Therefore, depending upon 
your positive promise, I shall add no more arguments to persuade 
you, and am, with the greatest truth, your most faithful and 
obedient servant, 

" Theo. Cashell," 



32 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

behaviour, they got up on their knees, and cried 
<( Peccavi " with a most sonorous orthodoxy. Yes ; 
poor Harry Fielding and poor Dick Steele were 
trusty and undoubting Church of England men ; they 
abhorred Popery, Atheism, and wooden shoes, and 
idolatries in general; and hiccupped Church and 
State with fervour. 

But Swift ? His mind had had a different school- 
ing, and possessed a very different logical power. 
He was not bred up in a tipsy guard-room, and did 
not learn to reason in a Covent Garden tavern. He 
could conduct an argument from beginning to end. 
He could see forward with a fatal clearness. In his 
old age, looking at the " Tale of a Tub," when he 
said, " Good God, what a genius I had when I wrote 
that book !" I think he was admiring not the genius, 
but the consequences to which the genius had brought 
him — a vast genius, a magnificent genius, a genius 
wonderfully bright, and dazzling, and strong, — to 
seize, to know, to see, to flash upon falsehood and 
scorch it into perdition, to penetrate into the hidden 
motives, and expose the black thoughts of men, — 
an awful, an evil spirit. 

Ah, man! you, educated in Epicurean Temple's 
library, you whose friends were Pope and St. John — 
what made you to swear to fatal vows, and bind your- 
self to a life-long hypocrisy before the Heaven which 
you adored with such real wonder, humility, and 



SWIFT. 33 

reverence ? For Swift was a reverent, was a pious 
spirit — for Swift could love and could pray. Through 
the storms and tempests of his furious mind, the stars 
of religion and love break out in the blue, shining 
serenely, though hidden by the driving clouds and 
the maddened hurricane of his life. 

It is my belief that he suffered frightfully from the 
consciousness of his own scepticism, and that he had 
bent his pride so far down as to put his apostasy out to 
hire. 1 The paper left behind him, called " Thoughts 
on Religion," is merely a set of excuses for not pro- 
fessing disbelief. He says of his sermons that he 
preached pamphlets : they have scarce a Christian 
characteristic ; they might be preached from the steps 
of a synagogue, or the floor of a mosque, or the box 
of a coffee-house almost. There is little or no cant — 
he is too great and too proud for that ; and, in so far 
as the badness of his sermons goes, he is honest. 
But having put that cassock on, it poisoned him : he 
was strangled in his bands. He goes through life, 
tearing, like a man possessed with a devil. Like 
Abudah in the Arabian story, he is always looking 
out for the Fury, and knows that the night will come 

1 " Mr. Swift lived with him [Sir William Temple] some time, 
but resolving to settle himself in some way of living, was inclined 
to take orders. However, although his fortune was very small, 
he had a scruple of entering into the Church merely for support." — 
Anecdotes of the Family of Swift, by the Dean. 

D 



34 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

and the inevitable hag with it. What a night, my 
God, it was ! what a lonely rage and long agony — 
what a vulture that tore the heart of that giant ! * 
It is awful to think of the great sufferings of this 
great man. Through life he always seems alone, 
somehow. Goethe was so. I can't fancy Shakspeare 
otherwise. The giants must live apart. The kings 
can have no company. But this man suffered so ; 
and deserved so to suffer. One hardly reads any- 
where of such a pain. 

The "sseva indignatio" of which he spoke as lace- 
rating his heart, and which he dares to inscribe on 
his tombstone — as if the wretch who lay under that 
stone waiting God's judgment had a right to be 
angry — breaks out from him in a thousand pages of 
his writing, and tears and rends him. Against men 
in office, he having been overthrown; against men 
in England, he having lost his chance of preferment 
there, the furious exile never fails to rage and curse. 
Is it fair to call the famous (l Drapier's Letters'" 
patriotism? They are master-pieces of dreadful 
humour and invective : they are reasoned logically 
enough too, but the proposition is as monstrous and 



1 "Dr. Swift had a natural severity of face, which even his 
smiles could never soften, or his utmost gaiety render placid 
and serene ; but when that sternness of visage was increased by 
rage, it is scarce possible to imagine looks or features that carried 
in them more terror and austerity." — Orrery. 



SWIFT. 35 

fabulous as the Lilliputian island. It is not that the 
grievance is so great, but there is his enemy — the 
assault is wonderful for its activity and terrible rage. 
It is Samson, with a bone in his hand, rushing on his 
enemies and felling them : one admires not the cause 
so much as the strength, the anger, the fury of the 
champion. As is the case with madmen, certain 
subjects provoke him, and awaken his fits of wrath. 
Marriage is one of these ; in a hundred passages in 
his writings he rages against it ; rages against chil- 
dren; an object of constant satire, even more con- 
temptible in his eyes than a lord's chaplain, is a poor 
curate with a large family. The idea of this luck- 
less paternity never fails to bring down from him 
gibes and foul language. Could Dick Steele, or 
Goldsmith, or Fielding, in his most reckless moment 
of satire, have written anything like the Dean's 
famous " modest proposal" for eating children? Not 
one of these but melts at the thoughts of childhood, 
fondles and caresses it. Mr. Dean has no such soft- 
ness, and enters the nursery with the tread and 
gaiety of an ogre. 1 " I have been assured," says he 
in the " Modest Proposal," " by a very knowing 

"London, April 10th, 1713. 
" Lady Masham's eldest boy is very ill : I doubt he will not live; 
and she stays at Kensington to nurse him, which vexes us all. 
She is so excessively fond, it makes me mad. She should never 
leave the Queen, but leave everything, to stick to what is so much 
the interest of the public, as well as her own." . . . . — Journal. 

D 2 



36 ENGLISH HUMOUMSTS. 

American of my acquaintance in London, that a young 
healthy child, well-nursed, is, at a year old, a most 
delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether 
stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no 
doubt it will equally serve in a ragout" And taking 
up this pretty joke, as his way is, he argues it with 
perfect gravity and logic. He turns and twists this 
subject in a score of different ways : he hashes it ; 
and he serves it up cold ; and he garnishes it ; and 
relishes it always. He describes the little animal as 
"dropped from its dam," advising that the mother 
should let it suck plentifully in the last month, so as 
to render it plump and fat for a good table ! " A 
child," says his reverence, " will make two dishes at 
an entertainment for friends ; and when the family 
dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a 
reasonable dish," and so on; and, the subject being 
so delightful that he can't leave it — he proceeds to 
recommend, in place of venison for squires' tables, 
" the bodies of young lads and maidens not exceed- 
ing fourteen or under twelve." Amiable humourist ! 
laughing castigator of morals ! There was a process 
well-known and practised in the Dean's gay days: 
when a lout entered the coffee-house, the wags pro- 
ceeded to what they called "roasting" him. This 
is roasting a subject with a vengeance. The Dean 
had a native genius for it. As the " Almanach des 
Gourmands" says, On nait rdtisseur. 



SWIFT. 37 

And it was not merely by the sarcastic method 
that Swift exposed the unreasonableness of loving 
and having children. In Gulliver, the folly of love 
and marriage is urged by graver arguments and 
advice. In the famous Lilliputian kingdom, Swift 
speaks with approval of the practice of instantly 
removing children from their parents and educating 
them by the State ; and amongst his favourite horses, 
a pair of foals are stated to be the very utmost a 
well-regulated equine couple would permit them- 
selves. In fact, our great satirist was of opinion 
that conjugal love was unadvisable, and illustrated 
the theory by his own practice and example — God 
help him — which made him about the most wretched 
being in God's wwld. 1 

The grave and logical conduct of an absurd propo- 
sition, as exemplified in the cannibal proposal just 
mentioned, is our author's constant method through 
all his works of humour. Given a country of people 
six inches or sixty feet high, and by the mere process 
of the logic, a thousand wonderful absurdities are 
evolved, at so many stages of the calculation. Turn- 
ing to the first minister who waited behind him with 
a white staff near as tall as the mainmast of the 
" Royal Sovereign," the king of Brobdingnag ob- 



1 " My health is somewhat mended, but at best I hare an ill 
head and an aching heart."— In May, 1719. 



38 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

serves how contemptible a thing human grandeur 
is, as represented by such a contemptible little 
creature as Gulliver. " The Emperor of Lilliput's 
features are strong and masculine (what a surpris- 
ing humour there is in this description!) — the 
Emperor's features/' Gulliver says, " are strong and 
masculine, with an Austrian lip, an arched nose, his 
complexion olive, his countenance erect, his body 
and limbs well-proportioned, and his deportment 
majestic. He is taller by the breadth of my nail than 
any of his court, which alone is enough to strike an 
awe into beholders." 

What a surprising humour there is in these 
descriptions ! How noble the satire is here ! how 
just and honest! How perfect the image! Mr. 
Macaulay has quoted the charming lines of the poet, 
where the king of the pigmies is measured by the 
same standard. We have all read in Milton of the 
spear that was like " the mast of some tall admiral," 
but these images are surely likely to come to the 
comic poet originally. The subject is before him. 
He is turning it in a thousand ways. He is full of 
it. The figure suggests itself naturally to him, and 
comes out of his subject, as in that wonderful passage, 
when Gulliver's box having been dropped by the 
eagle into the sea, and Gulliver having been received 
into the ship's cabin, he calls upon the crew to bring 
the box into the cabin, and put it on the table, the 



SWIFT. 39 

cabin being only a quarter the size of the box. It 
is the veracity of the blunder which is so admirable. 
Had a man come from such a country as Brobding- 
nag he would have blundered so. 

But the best stroke of humour, if there be a best 
in that abounding book, is that where Gulliver, in 
the unpronounceable country, describes his parting 
from his master the horse. 1 " I took," he says, " a 

1 Perhaps the most melancholy satire in the whole of the 
dreadful book, is the description of the very old people in the 
Voyage to Laputa. At Lugnag, Gulliver hears of some persons 
who never die, called the Struldbrugs, and expressing a wish to 
become acquainted with men who must have so much learning 
and experience, his colloquist describes the Struldbrugs to him. 

" He said, They commonly acted like mortals, till about thirty 
years old, after which, by degrees, they grew melancholy and 
dejected, increasing in both till they came to fourscore. This he 
learned from their own confession : for otherwise there not being 
above two or three of that species born in an age, they were too 
few to form a general observation by. When they came to four- 
score years, which is reckoned the extremity of living in this 
country, they had not only all the follies and infirmities of other 
old men, but many more, which arose from the prospect of never 
dying. They were not only opinionative, peevish, covetous, 
morose, vain, talkative, but incapable of friendship, and dead to 
all natural affection, which never descended below their grand- 
children. Envy and impotent desires are their prevailing passions. 
But those objects against which their envy seems principally 
directed, are the vices of the younger sort and the deaths of the 
old. By reflecting on the former, they find themselves cut off 
from all possibility of pleasure; and whenever they see a funeral, 
they lament, and repent that others are gone to a harbour of rest, 
to which they themselves never can hope to arrive. They have 
no remembrance of anything but what they learned and observed 
in their youth and middle age, and even that is very imperfect. 



40 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

second leave of my master, but as I was going to 
prostrate myself to kiss his hoof, he did me the 

And for the truth or particulars of any fact, it is safer to depend 
on common tradition than upon their best recollections. The 
least miserable among them appear to be those who turn to dotage, 
and entirely lose their memories; these meet with more pity and 
assistance, because they want many bad qualities which abound 
in others. 

" If a Struldbrug happened to marry one of his own kind, the 
marriage is dissolved of course, by the courtesy of the kingdom, 
as soon as the younger of the two comes to be fourscore. For the 
law thinks it to be a reasonable indulgence that those who are 
condemned, without any fault of their own, to a perpetual con- 
tinuance in the world, should not have their misery doubled by 
the load of a wife. 

" As soon as they have completed the term of eighty years, 
they are looked on as dead in law; their heirs immediately suc- 
ceed to their estates, only a small pittance is reserved for their 
support; and the poor ones are maintained at the public charge. 
After that period, they are held incapable of any employment of 
trust or profit, they cannot purchase lands or take leases, neither 
are they allowed to be witnesses in any cause, either civil or 
criminal, not even for the decision of meers and bounds. 

" At ninety they lose their teeth and hair ; they have at that age 
no distinction of taste, but eat and drink whatever they can get 
without relish or appetite. The diseases they were subject to still 
continue, without increasing or diminishing. In talking, they 
forget the common appellation of things, and the names of persons, 
even of those who are their nearest friends and relatives. For 
the same reason, they can never amuse themselves with reading, 
because their memory will not serve to carry them from the 
beginning of a sentence to the end ; and by this defect they are 
deprived of the only entertainment whereof they might otherwise 
be capable. 

" The language of this country being always on the flux, the 
Struldbrugs of one age do not understand those of another; 
neither are they able, after two hundred years, to hold any con- 
versation (further than by a few general words) with their neigh- 



SWIFT. 41 

honour to raise it gently to my mouth. I am not 
ignorant how much I have been censured for men- 
tioning this last particular. Detractors are pleased 
to think it improbable that so illustrious a person 
should descend to give so great a mark of distinction 
to a creature so inferior as I. Neither am I ignorant 
how apt some travellers are to boast of extraordinary 

hours, the mortals ; and thus they lie under the disadvantage of 
living like foreigners in their own country. 

" This was the account given me of the Struldbrugs, as near 
as I can remember. I afterwards saw five or six of different ages, 
the youngest not above two hundred years old, who were brought 
to me several times by some of my friends ; but although they 
were told 'that I was a great traveller, and had seen all the 
world,' they had not the least curiosity to ask me a single question ; 
only desired I would give them slumskudask, or a token of 
remembrance; which is a modest way of begging, to avoid the 
law that strictly forbids it, because they are provided for by the 
public, although indeed with a very scanty allowance. 

" They are despised and hated by all sorts of people ; when one 
of them is born, it is reckoned ominous, and their birth is recorded 
very particularly; so that you may know their age by consulting 
the register, which, however, has not been kept above a thousand 
years past, or at least has been destroyed by time or public 
disturbances. But the usual way of computing how old they are, 
is, by asking them what kings or great persons they can remem- 
ber, and then consulting history ; for infallibly the last prince 
in their mind did not begin his reign after they were fourscore 
years old. 

" They were the most mortifying sight I ever beheld, and the 
women more horrible than the men; besides the usual deformities 
in extreme old age, they acquired an additional ghastliness, in 
proportion to their number of years, which is not to be described; 
and among half a dozen, I soon distinguished which was the 
eldest, although there was not above a century or two between 
them." — Gulliver's Travels. 



42 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

favours they have received. But if these censurers 
were better acquainted with the noble and courteous 
disposition of the Houyhnhnms they would soon 
change their opinion." 

The surprise here, the audacity of circumstantial 
evidence, the astounding gravity of the speaker, 
who is not ignorant how much he has been cen- 
sured, the nature of the favour conferred, and the 
respectful exultation at the receipt of it, are surely 
complete ; it is truth topsy-turvy, entirely logical 
and absurd. 

As for the humour and conduct of this famous 
fable, I suppose there is no person who reads but 
must admire ; as for the moral, I think it horrible, 
shameful, unmanly, blasphemous ; and giant and 
great as this Dean is, I say we should hoot him. 
Some of this audience mayn't have read the last part 
of Gulliver, and to such I would recall the advice of 
the venerable Mr. Punch to persons about to marry, 
and say " Don't." When Gulliver first lands among 
the Yahoos, the naked howling wretches clamber up 
trees and assault him, and he describes himself as 
" almost stifled with the filth which fell about him." 
The reader of the fourth part of Gulliver's Travels 
is like the hero himself in this instance. It is Yahoo 
language ; a monster gibbering shrieks, and gnash- 
ing imprecations against mankind — tearing down all 
shreds of modesty, past all sense of manliness and 



SWIFT. 43 

shame ; filthy in word, filthy in thought, furious, 
raging, obscene. 

And dreadful it is to think that Swift knew the 
tendency of his creed — the fatal rocks towards which 
his logic desperately drifted. That last part of 
Gulliver is only a consequence of what has gone 
before ; and the worthlessness of all mankind, the 
pettiness, cruelty, pride, imbecility, the general 
vanity, the foolish pretension, the mock greatness, 
the pompous dulness, the mean aims, the base suc- 
cesses — all these were present to him; it was with 
the din of these curses of the world, blasphemies 
against Heaven, shrieking in his ears, that he began 
to write his dreadful allegory — of which the meaning 
is that man is utterly wicked, desperate, and imbecile, 
and his passions are so monstrous, and his boasted 
powers so mean, that he is and deserves to be the 
slave of brutes, and ignorance is better than his 
vaunted reason. What had this man done? what 
secret remorse was rankling at his heart ? what fever 
was boiling in him, that he should see all the world 
blood-shot ? We view the world with our own eyes, 
each of us ; and we make from within us the world 
we see. A weary heart gets no gladness out of sun- 
shine ; a selfish man is sceptical about friendship, as a 
man with no ear doesn't care for music. A frightful 
self- consciousness it must have been, which looked on 
mankind so darkly through those keen eyes of Swift. 



44 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

A remarkable story is told by Scott, of Delany, 
who interrupted Archbishop King and Swift in a 
conversation which left the prelate in tears, and from 
which Swift rushed away with marks of strong 
terror and agitation in his countenance, upon which 
the archbishop said to Delany, " You have just met 
the most unhappy man on earth ; but on the subject 
of his wretchedness you must never ask a question," 

The most unhappy man on earth ; — Miserrimus — 
what a character of him ! And at this time all the 
great wits of England had been at his feet. All 
Ireland had shouted after him, and worshipped as a 
liberator, a saviour, the greatest Irish patriot and 
citizen. Dean Drapier Bickerstaff Gulliver — the 
most famous statesmen, and the greatest poets of his 
day, had applauded him, and done him homage ; 
and at this time writing over to Bolingbroke, from 
Ireland, he says, " It is time for me to have done 
with the world, and so I would if I could get into a 
better before I was called into the best, and not to 
die here in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a hole? 

We have spoken about the men, and Swift's be- 
haviour to them ; and now it behoves us not to forget 
that there are certain other persons in the creation 
who had rather intimate relations with the great 
Dean. 1 Two women whom he loved and injured are 

1 The name of Varina has heen thrown into the shade by those 
of the famous Stella and Vanessa ; but she had a story of her 



SWIFT, 45 

known by every reader of books so familiarly that 
if we had seen them, or if they had been relatives 
of our own, we scarcely could have known them 
better. Who hasn't in his mind an image of Stella ? 
Who does not love her ? Fair and tender creature : 
pure and affectionate heart! Boots it to you, now 
that you have been at rest for a hundred and twenty 
years, not divided in death from the cold heart which 
caused yours, whilst it beat, such faithful pangs of 
love and grief — boots it to you now, that the whole 
world loves and deplores you? Scarce any man, I 
believe, ever thought of that grave, that did not 
cast a flower of pity on it, and write over it a 



own to tell about the blue eyes of young Jonathan. One may 
say that the book of Swift's Life opens at places kept by these 
blighted flowers ! Varina must have a paragraph. 

She was a Miss Jane Waryng, sister to a college chum of his. 
In 1696, when Swift was nineteen years old, we find him writing 
a love-letter to her, beginning, " Impatience is the most inseparable 
quality of a lover." But absence made a great difference in his 
feelings ; so, four years afterwards, the tone is changed. He writes 
again, a very curious letter, offering to marry her, and putting 
the offer in such a way that nobody gould possibly accept it. 

After dwelling on his poverty, &c, he says, conditionally, Ci I 
shall be blessed to have you in my arms, without regarding 
whether your person be beautiful, or your fortune large. Cleanli- 
ness in the first, and competency in the second, is all I ask for ! " 

The editors do not tell us what became of Yarina in life. One 
would be glad to know that she met with some worthy partner, 
and lived long enough to see her little boys laughing over Lilliput, 
without any arriere pensee of a sad character about the great 
Dean ! 



46 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

sweet epitaph. Gentle lady, so lovely, so loving, 
so unhappy ! you have had countless champions ; 
millions of manly hearts mourning for you. From 
generation to generation we take up the fond tradi- 
tion of your beauty; we watch and follow your 
tragedy, your bright morning love and purity, your 
constancy, your grief, your sweet martyrdom. We 
know your legend by heart. You are one of the 
saints of English story. 

And if Stella's love and innocence are charming to 
contemplate, I will say that in spite of ill-usage, in 
spite of drawbacks, in spite of mysterious separation 
and union, of hope delayed and sickened heart — in 
the teeth of Vanessa, and that little episodical aber- 
ration which plunged Swift into such woeful pitfalls 
and quagmires of amorous perplexity — in spite of the 
verdicts of most women, I believe, who, as far as 
my experience and conversation go, generally take 
Vanessa's part in the controversy — in spite of the 
tears which Swift caused Stella to shed, and the 
rocks and barriers which fate and temper interposed, 
and which prevented the pure course of that true 
love from running smoothly — the brightest part of 
Swift's story, the pure star in that dark and tem- 
pestuous life of Swift's, is his love for Hester Johnson. 
It has been my business, professionally of course, to 
go through a deal of sentimental reading in my time, 
and to acquaint myself with love-making, as it has 



SWIFT. 47 

been described in various languages, and at various 
ages of the world; and I know of nothing more 
manly, more tender, more exquisitely touching, than 
some of these brief notes, written in what Swift calls 
"his little language" in his journal to Stella. 1 He 
writes to her night and morning often. He never 
sends away a letter to her but he begins a new one 
on the same day. He can't bear to let go her kind 
little hand, as it were. He knows that she is think- 
ing of him, and longing for him far away in Dublin 
yonder. He takes her letters from under his pillow 
and talks to them, familiarly, paternally, with fond 
epithets and pretty caresses — as he would to the 
sweet and artless creature who loved him. " Stay," 
he writes one morning- — it is the 14th of December, 
1710 — " Stay, I will answer some of your letter this 
morning in bed — let me see. Come and appear, little 
letter! Here I am, says he, and what say you to 

1 A sentimental Champollion might find a good deal of matter 
for his art, in expounding the symbols of the " Little Language." 
Usually, Stella is " M.D.," but sometimes her companion, Mrs. 
Lingley, is included in it. Swift is " Presto ;" also P.D.F.R. We 
have " Good-night, M.D. ; Night, M.D. ; Little M.D. ; Stellakins ; 
Pretty Stella; Dear, roguish, impudent, pretty M.D. !" Every 
now and then he breaks into rhyme, as — 

" I wish you both a merry new year, 
Boast beef, minced-pies, and good strong beer, 
And me a share of your good cheer, 
That I was there, as you were here, 
And you are a little saucy dear." 



48 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Stella this morning fresh and fasting? And can 
Stella read this writing without hurting her dear 
eyes ? " he goes on, after more kind prattle and fond 
whispering. The dear eyes shine clearly upon him 
then — the good angel of his life is with him and 
blessing him. Ah, it was a hard fate that wrung from 
them so many tears, and stabbed pitilessly that pure 
and tender bosom. A hard fate : but would she have 
changed it? I have heard a woman say that she 
would have taken Swift's cruelty to have had his 
tenderness. He had a sort of worship for her whilst 
he wounded her. He speaks of her after she is 
gone ; of her wit, of her kindness, of her grace, of 
her beauty, with a simple love and reverence that 
are indescribably touching ; in contemplation of her 
goodness his hard heart melts into pathos ; his cold 
rhyme kindles and glows into poetry, and he falls 
down on his knees, so to speak, before the angel, 
whose life he had embittered, confesses his own 
wretchedness and unworthiness, and adores her with 
cries of remorse and love : — 

" When on my sickly couch I lay, 
Impatient both of night and day, 
And groaning in unmanly strains, 
Called every power to ease my pains, 
Then Stella ran to my relief, 
With cheerful face and inward grief, 
And though by heaven's severe decree 
She suffers hourly more than me, 
No cruel master could require 
From slaves employed for daily hire, 



SWIFT. 49 

What Stella, by her friendship warmed, 
With vigour and delight performed. 
Now, with a soft and silent tread, 
Unheard she moves about my bed : 
My sinking spirits now supplies 
With cordials in her hands and eyes. 
Best patron of true friends ! beware ; 
You pay too dearly for your care 
If, while your tenderness secures 
My life, it must endanger yours : 
For such a fool was never found 
Who pulled a palace to the ground, 
Only to have the ruins made 
Materials for a house decayed." 

One little triumph Stella had in her life — one dear 
little piece of injustice was performed in her favour, 
for which I confess, for my part, I can't help thank- 
ing fate and the Dean. That other person was sacri- 
ficed to her — that — that young woman, who lived 
five doors from Dr. Swift's lodgings in Bury-street, 
and who flattered him, and made love to him in such 
an outrageous manner — Vanessa was thrown over. 

Swift did not keep Stella's letters to him in reply 
to those he wrote to her. 1 He kept Bolingbroke's, 
and Pope's, and Harley's, and Peterborough's : but 
Stella, " very carefully," the Lives say, kept Swift's. 
Of course : that is the way of the world : and so we 
cannot tell what her style was, or of what sort were 

1 The following passages are from a paper begun by Swift on 
the evening of the day of her death, Jan. 28, 1727-8 : 

"She was sickly from her childhood, until about the age of 
fifteen ; but then she grew into perfect health, and was looked 

E 



50 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the little letters which the Doctor placed there at 
night, and bade to appear from under his pillow of a 

upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young 
women in London — only a Httle too fat. Her hair was blacker 
than a raven, and every feature of her face in perfection. 

. . . . " Properly speaking" — he goes on with a calmness which, 
under the circumstances, is terrible — "she has been dying six 
months !'" 

" Never was any of her sex born with better gifts of the mind, 

or who more improved them by reading and conversation 

All of us who had the happiness of her friendship agreed unani- 
mously, that in an afternoon's or evening's conversation she never 
failed before we parted of delivering the best thing that was said 
in the company. Some of us have written down several of her 
sayings, or what the French call bons mots, wherein she excelled 
beyond belief." 

The specimens on record, however, in the Dean's paper called 
" Bons Mots de Stella," scarcely bear out this last part of the 
panegyric. But the following prove her wit : 

" A gentleman, who had been very silly and pert in her company, 
at last began to grieve at remembering the loss of a child lately 
dead. A bishop sitting by comforted him — that he should be easy, 
because ' the child was gone to heaven.' ' No, my lord,' said she ; 
' that is it which most grieves him, because he is sure never to see 
his child there.' 

" When she was extremely ill, her physician said, ' Madam, you 
are near the bottom of the hill, but we will endeavour to get you 
up again.' She answered, ' Doctor, I fear I shall be out of breath 
before I get up to the top.' 

" A very dirty clergyman of her acquaintance, who affected 
smartness and repartees, was asked by some of the company how 
his nails came to be so dirty. He was at a loss ; but she solved 
the difficulty, by saying, ' the Doctor's nails grew dirty by scratch- 
ing himself.' 

" A quaker apothecary sent her a vial, corked ; it had a broad 
brim, and a label of paper about its neck. ' What is that ? ' — said 
she — ' my apothecary's son ! ' The ridiculous resemblance, and 
the suddenness of the question, set us all a-laughing." — Sioiffs 
Works, Scott's Ed. vol. ix. 295-6. 



SWIFT. 51 

morning. But in Letter IV. of that famous collec- 
tion lie describes his lodging in Bury-street, where 
he has the first floor, a dining-room and bed-chamber, 
at eight shillings a week; and in Letter VI. he says 
"he has visited a lady just come to town," whose 
name somehow is not mentioned ; and in Letter VIII. 
he enters a query of Stella's — " What do you mean 
' that boards near me, that I dine with now and 
then?' What the deuce! You know whom I have 
dined with every day since I left you, better than I 
do." Of course she does. Of course Swift has not 
the slightest idea of what she means. But in a few 
letters more it turns out that the Doctor has been to 
dine " gravely" with a Mrs. Vanhomrigh: then that 
he has been to " his neighbour : " then that he has 
been unwell, and means to dine for the whole week 
with his neighbour! Stella was quite right in her 
previsions. She saw from the very first hint what 
was going to happen ; and scented Vanessa in the 
air. 1 The rival is at the Dean's feet. The pupil 

1 "I am so hot and lazy after my morning's walk, that I loitered 
at Mrs. Vanhomrigh' s, where my best gown and periwig was, and 
out of mere listlessness dine there, very often; so I did to day." — 
Journal to Stella. 

Mrs. Vanhomrigh, " Vanessa's " mother, was the widow of a 
Dutch merchant who held lucrative appointments in King Wil- 
liam's time. The family settled in London in 1709, and had a 
house in Bury-street, St. James's — a street made notable by such 
residents as Swift and Steele; and, in our own time, Moore and 
Crabbe. 

m 2 



52 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

and teacher are reading together, and drinking tea 
together > and going to prayers together, and learning 
Latin together, and conjugating amo, amas, amavi 
together. The little language is over for poor Stella. 
By the rule of grammar and the course of conju- 
gation, doesn't amavi come after amo and amas ? 

The loves of Cadenus and Vanessa 1 you may 
peruse in Cadenus's own poem on the subject, and 
in poor Vanessa's vehement expostulatory verses and 
letters to him ; she adores him, implores him, admires 
him, thinks him something god-like, and only prays 
to be admitted to lie at his feet. 2 As they are 

1 " Vanessa was excessively vain. The character given of her 
by Cadenus is fine painting, but in general fictitious. She was 
fond of dress ; impatient to be admired ; very romantic in her 
turn of mind ; superior, in her own opinion, to all her sex ; full of 
pertness, gaiety, and pride ; not without some agreeable accom- 
plishments, but far from being either beautiful or genteel; ..... 
happy in the thoughts of being reported Swift's concubine, but 
still aiming and intending to be his wife." — Lord Orrery. 

2 " You bid me be easy, and you would see me as often as you 
could. You had better have said, as often as you can get the 
better of your inclinations so much ; or as often as you remember 
there was such a one in the world. If you continue to treat me 
as you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long. It is impos- 
sible to describe what I have suffered since I saw you last : I am 
sure I could have borne the rack much better than those killing, 
killing words of yours. Sometimes I have resolved to die without 
seeing you more; but those resolves, to your misfortune, did not 
last long; for there is something in human nature that prompts 
one so to find relief in this world I must give way to it, and beg you 
would see me, and speak kindly to me ; for I am sure you 'd not 
condemn any one to suffer what I have done, could you but know 
it. The reason I write to you is, because I cannot tell it to you, 



SWIFT. 53 

bringing him home from church, those divine feet 
of Dr. Swift's are found pretty often in Vanessa's 
parlour. He likes to be admired and adored. He 
finds Miss Vanhomrigh to be a woman of great taste 
and spirit, and beauty and wit, and a fortune too. 
He sees her every day ; he does not tell Stella about 
the business : until the impetuous Yanessa becomes 
too fond of him, until the doctor is quite frightened 
by the young woman's ardour, and confounded by 
her warmth. He wanted to marry neither of them — 
that I believe was the truth ; but if he had not 
married Stella, Vanessa would have had him in spite 
of himself. When he went back to Ireland, his 
Ariadne, not content to remain in her isle, pursued 
the fugitive Dean. In vain he protested, he vowed, 
he soothed, and bullied; the news of the Dean's 
marriage with Stella at last came to her, and it 
killed her — she died of that passion. 1 

should I see you ; for when I begin to complain, then you are 
angry, and there is something in your looks so awful that it strikes 
me dumb. Oh ! that you may have but so much regard for me 
left that this complaint may touch your soul with pity. I say as 
little as ever I can ; did you but know what I thought, I am sure 
it would move you to forgive me; and believe I cannot help telling 
you this and live." — Vanessa. (M. 1714.) 

1 " If we consider Swift's behaviour, so far only as it relates to 
women, we shall find that he looked upon them rather as busts 
than as whole figures." — Orrery. 

"You must have smiled to have found his house a constant 
seraglio of very virtuous women, who attended him from morning 
to night." — Orrert. 



54 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

And when she died, and Stella heard that Swift 
had written beautifully regarding her, " That doesn't 

A correspondent of Sir Walter Scott's furnished him with the 
materials on which to found the following interesting passage 
about Vanessa — after she had retired to cherish her passion in 
retreat : — 

" Marley Abbey, near Celbridge, where Miss Vanhomrigh re- 
sided, is built much in the form of a real cloister, especially in its 
external appearance. An aged man (upwards of ninety, by his 
own account), showed the grounds to my correspondent. He was 
the son of Mrs. Vanhomrigh's gardener, and used to work with 
his father in the garden while a boy. He remembered the unfor- 
tunate Vanessa well ; and his account of her corresponded with 
the usual description of her person, especially as to her embonpoint. 
He said she went seldom abroad, and saw little company: her 

constant amusement was reading, or walking in the garden 

She avoided company, and was always melancholy, save when 
Dean Swift was there, and then she seemed happy. The garden 
was to an uncommon degree crowded with laurels. The old man 
said that when Miss Vanhomrigh expected the Dean she always 
planted with her own hand a laurel or two against his arrival. 
He showed her favourite seat, still called ' Vanessa's bower.' 

Three or four trees and some laurels indicate the spot 

There were two seats and a rude table within the bower, the 

opening of which commanded a view of the Liffey In 

this sequestered spot, according to the old gardener's account, 
the Dean and Vanessa used often to sit, with books and writing 
materials on the table before them." — Scott's Swift, vol. i. 
pp. 246-7. 

.... "But Miss Vanhomrigh, irritated at the situation in 
which she found herself, determined on bringing to a crisis those 
expectations of a union with the object of her affections — to the 
hope of which she had clung amid every vicissitude of his conduct 
towards her. The most probable bar was his undefined connection 
with Mrs. Johnson, which, as it must have been perfectly known 
to her, had, doubtless, long elicited her secret jealousy, although 
only a single hint to that purpose is to be found in their corre- 
spondence, and that so early as 1713, when she writes to him — 



SWIFT. 55 

surprise me," said Mrs. Stella, " for we all know the 
Dean could write beautifully about a broomstick." 
A woman — a true woman! Would you have had 
one of them forgive the other ? 

In a note in his biography, Scott says that his 
friend Dr. Tuke, of Dublin, has a lock of Stella's hair, 



then in Ireland — ' If you are very happy, it is ill-natured of you 
not to tell me so, except 'tis what is inconsistent with mine.' Her 
silence and patience under this state of uncertainty for no less 
than eight years, must have been partly owing to her awe for 
Swift, and partly, perhaps, to the weak state of her rival's 
health, which, from year to year, seemed to announce speedy 
dissolution. At length, however, Vanessa's impatience prevailed, 
and she ventured on the decisive step of writing to Mrs. Johnson 
herself, requesting to know the nature of that connection. Stella, 
in reply, informed her of her marriage with the Dean; and full 
of the highest resentment against Swift for having given another 
female such a right in him as Miss Vanhomrigh's inquiries 
implied, she sent to him her rival's letter of interrogatories, and, 
without seeing him, or awaiting his reply, retired to the house of 
Mr. Ford, near Dublin. Every reader knows the consequence. 
Swift, in one of those paroxysms of fury to which he was liable, 
both from temper and disease, rode instantly to Marley Abbey. 
As he entered the apartment, the sternness of his countenance, 
which was peculiarly formed to express the fiercer passions, 
struck the unfortunate Vanessa with such terror that she CGuld 
scarce ask whether he would not sit down. He answered by 
flinging a letter on the table, and, instantly leaving the house, 
remounted his horse, and returned to Dublin. When Vanessa 
opened the packet, she only found her own letter to Stella. It 
was her death warrant. She sunk at once under the disappoint- 
ment of the delayed, yet cherished, hopes which had so long 
sickened her heart, and beneath the unrestrained wrath of him 
for whose sake she had indulged them. How long she survived 
the last interview is uncertain, but the time does not seem to have 
exceeded a few weeks." — Scott, 



56 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

enclosed in a paper by Swift, on which are written in 
the Dean's hand, the words : " Only a woman's hair." 
An instance, says Scott, of the Dean's desire to veil 
his feelings under the mask of cynical indifference. 

See the various notions of critics ! Do those 
words indicate indifference or an attempt to hide 
feeling? Did you ever hear or read four words 
more pathetic ? Only a woman's hair : only love, 
only fidelity, only purity, innocence, beauty; only 
the tenderest heart in the world stricken and wounded, 
and passed away now out of reach of pangs of hope 
deferred, love insulted, and pitiless desertion: — only 
that lock of hair left ; and memory and remorse, for 
the guilty, lonely wretch, shuddering over the grave 
of his victim. 

And yet to have had so much love, he must have 
given some. Treasures of wit and wisdom, and ten- 
derness, too, must that man have had locked up in 
the caverns of his gloomy heart, and shown fitfully 
to one or two whom he took in there. But it was 
not good to visit that place. People did not remain 
there long, and suffered for having been there. 1 He 

1 " M. Swift est Rabelais dans son bon sens, et vivant en bonne 
compagnie. II n'a pas, a la verite, la galte du premier, mais il a 
toute la finesse, la raison, le choix, le bon gout qui manquent a 
notre cure de Meudon. Ses vers sont d'un gout singulier, et 
presque inimitable ; la bonne plaisanterie est son partage en vers 
et en prose ; mais pour le bien en tendre il faut faire un petit 
voyage dans son pays." — Voltaire, Lettres sur les Anglais. Let. 22. 



SWIFT. 57 

shrank away from all affections sooner or later. 
Stella and Yanessa both died near him, and away 
from himf He had not heart enough to see them 
die. He broke from his fastest friend, Sheridan; 
he slunk away from his fondest admirer, Pope. His 
laugh jars on one's ear after seven score years. He 
was always alone — alone and gnashing in the dark- 
ness, except when Stella's sweet smile came and 
shone upon him. When that went, silence and utter 
night closed over him. An immense genius : an 
awful downfall and rum. So great a man he seems 
to me, that thinking of him is like thinking of an 
empire falling. We have other great names to men- 
tion — none I think, however, so great or so gloomy. 



LECTURE THE SECOND. 



CONGKEVE AND ADDISON. 

A great number of years ago, before the passing of 
the Reform Bill, there existed at Cambridge a certain 
debating club, called the " Union ;" and I remember 
that there was a tradition amongst the undergraduates 
who frequented that renowned school of oratory, that 
the great leaders of the Opposition and Government 
had their eyes upon the University Debating Club, 
and that if a man distinguished himself there he ran 
some chance of being returned to Parliament as a 
great nobleman's nominee. So Jones of John's, or 
Thomson of Trinity, would rise in their might, and 
draping themselves in their gowns, rally round the 
monarchy, or hurl defiance at priests and kings, with 
the majesty of Pitt or the fire of Mirabeau, fancying 
all the while that the great nobleman's emissary was 
listening to the debate from the back benches, where 
he was sitting with the family seat in his pocket. 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON, 59 

Indeed, the legend said that one or two young Cam- 
bridge-men, orators of the Union, were actually 
caught up thence, and carried down to Cornwall or 
old Sarum, and so into Parliament. And many a 
young fellow deserted the jogtrot University curri- 
culum, to hang on in the dust behind the fervid 
wheels of the parliamentary chariot 

Where, I have often wondered, were the sons of 
peers and members of Parliament in Anne's and 
George's time? Were they all in the army, or 
hunting in the country, or boxing the watch ? How 
was it that the young gentlemen from the University 
got such a prodigious number of places ? A lad 
composed a neat copy of verses at Christchurch or 
Trinity, in which the death of a great personage 
was bemoaned, the French king assailed, the Dutch 
or Prince Eugene complimented, or the reverse; 
and the party in power was presently to provide for 
the young poet ; and a commissionership, or a post 
in the Stamps, or the secretaryship of an Embassy, 
or a clerkship in the Treasury, came into the bard's 
possession. A wonderful fruit-bearing rod was that 
of Busby's. What have men of letters got in our 
time? Think, not only of Swift, a king fit to rule 
in any time or empire — but Addison, Steele, Prior, 
fickell, Congreve, John Gay, John Dennis, and 
many others, who got public employment, and pretty 



60 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

little pickings out of the public purse. 1 The wits of 
whose names we shall treat in this lecture and two 
following, all (save one) touched the King's coin, 
and had, at some period of their lives, a happy 
quarter-day coming round for them. 

They all began at school or college in the regular 
way, producing panegyrics upon public characters, 
what were called odes upon public events, battles, 
sieges, court marriages and deaths, in which the 

1 The following is a conspectus of them : — 

Addison. — Commissioner of Appeals ; Under Secretary of State ; 
Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; Keeper 
of the Eecords in Ireland ; Lord of Trade ; and one 
of the Principal Secretaries of State, successively. 

Steele. — Commissioner of the Stamp Office; Surveyor of the 
Koyal Stables at Hampton Court; and Governor of 
the Royal Company of Comedians; Commissioner 
of "Forfeited Estates in Scotland." 

Pkiok. — Secretary to the Embassy at the Hague ; Gentleman of 
the Bedchamber to King William; Secretary to the 
Embassy in France; Under Secretary of State; 
Ambassador to France. 

Tickell. — Under Secretary of State ; Secretary to the Lords 
Justices of Ireland. 

Congkeve. — Commissioner for licensing Hackney Coaches ; Com- 
missioner for Wine Licenses; place in the Pipe 
Office ; post in the Custom-house ; Secretary of 
Jamaica. 

Gat. — Secretary to the Earl of Clarendon (when Ambassador to 
Hanover.) 

John Dennis. — A place in the Custom House. 
" En Angleterre . . . . les lettres sont plus en honneur qu'ici." 

— Voltaike, Lettres sur les Anglais, Let. 20. 



CONGEE VE AND ADDISON. 61 

gods of Olympus and the tragic muse were fatigued 
with invocations, according to the fashion of the time 
in France and in England. Aid us Mars, Bacchus, 
Apollo, cried Addison, or Congreve, singing of 
William or Marlborough. " Accourez, chastes nymphes 
de Parnasse," says Boileau, celebrating the Grand 
Monarch. " Des sons que ma lyre enfante, marquez 
en bien la cadence, et vous, vents, faites silence ! je 
vais parler de Louis!" Schoolboys' themes and 
foundation exercises are the only relics left now of 
this scholastic fashion. The Olympians are left 
quite undisturbed in their mountain. What man of 
note, what contributor to the poetry of a country 
newspaper, would now think of writing a congratu- 
latory ode on the birth of the heir to a dukedom, 
or the marriage of a nobleman ? In the past century 
the young gentlemen of the Universities all exercised 
themselves at these queer compositions ; and some 
got fame, and some gained patrons and places for life, 
and many more took nothing by these efforts of what 
they were pleased to call their muses. 

William Congreve's 1 Pindaric Odes are still to be 
found in " Johnson's Poets," that now unfrequented 
poets' corner, in which so many forgotten big-wigs 
have a niche — but though he was also voted to be 

1 He was the son of Colonel William Congreve, and grandson 
of Richard Congreve, Esq., of Congreve and Stretton in Stafford* 
shire — a very ancient family. 



62 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

one of the greatest tragic poets of any day, it was 
Congreve's wit and humour which first recommended 
him to courtly fortune. And it is recorded, that his 
first play, the " Old Bachelor," brought our author 
to the notice of that great patron of English muses, 
Charles Montague Lord Halifax, who being desirous 
to place so eminent a wit in a state of ease and tran- 
quillity, instantly made him one of the Commissioners 
for licensing hackney-coaches, bestowed on him soon 
after a place in the Pipe-office, and likewise a post in 
the Custom-house of the value of 6001. 

A commissionership of hackney-coaches — a post 
m the Custom-house — a place in the Pipe-office, and 
all for writing a comedy ! Doesn't it sound like a 
fable, that place in the Pipe-office ? 1 Ah, l'heureux 



1 " Pipe. — Pipe, in law, is a roll in the Exchequer, called also 
the great roll. 

"FiFE-Office is an office in which a person called the Clerk of 
the Pipe makes out leases of crown lands, by warrant, from the 
Lord-Treasurer, or Commissioners of the Treasury, or Chancellor 
cf the Exchequer. 

" Clerk of the Pipe makes up all accounts of sheriffs, &c." — 
Rees. Cyclopced. Art. Pipe. 

" Pipe- Office. — Spelman thinks so called because the papers 
were kept in a large pipe or cask." 

" These be at last brought into that office of Her Majesty's 
Exchequer, which we, by a metaphor, do call the pipe . . . because 
the whole receipt is finally conveyed into it by means of divers 
small pipes or quills," — Bacon. The Office of Alienations. 

[We are indebted to Kichardson's Dictionary for this fragment 
of erudition. But a modern man-of-letters can know little on 
these points, by — experience.] 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 63 

temps que celui de ces fables ! Men of letters there 
still be: but I doubt whether any Pipe-offices are left. 
The public has smoked them long ago. 

Words, like men, pass current for a while with 
the public, and being known everywhere abroad, at 
length take their places ill society ; so even the most 
secluded and refined ladies here present will have 
heard the phrase from their sons or brothers at 
school, and will permit me to call William Congreve, 
Esquire, the most eminent literary "swell" of his 
age. In my copy of <( Johnson's Lives " Congreve's 
wig is the tallest, and put on with the jauntiest air 
of all the laurelled worthies. " I am the great Mr. 
Congreve," he seems to say, looking out from his 
voluminous curls. People called him the great Mr. 
Congreve. 1 From the beginning of his career until 
the end everybody admired him. Having got his 
education in Ireland, at the same school and college 
with Swift, he came to live in the Middle Temple, 
London, where he luckily bestowed no attention 
to the law; but splendidly frequented the coffee- 
houses and theatres, and appeared in the side-box, 
the tavern, the Piazza, and the Mall, brilliant, 



1 " It lias been observed that no change of Ministers affected 
him in the least, nor was he ever removed from any post that wa* 
given to him, except to a better. His place in the Custom-house, 
and his office of Secretary in Jamaica, are said to have brought 
him in upwards of twelve hundred a year." — Biog. Brit. } Art, 
Congreve. 



64 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

beautiful, and victorious from the first. Every- 
body acknowledged the young chieftain. The great 
Mr. Dry den 1 declared that he was equal to Shak- 
speare, and bequeathed to him his own undisputed 
poetical crown, and writes of him, " Mr. Congreve 
has done me the favour to review the ( iEneis,' and 

1 Dryden addressed his " twelfth epistle " to " My dear friend 
Mr. Congreve," on his comedy called the " Double Dealer," in 
which he says — 

" Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please ; 

Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. 

In differing talents both adorn'd their age ; 

One for the study, t'other for the stage. 

But both to Congreve justly shall submit, 

One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatched in wit. 

In him all beauties of this age we see," &c, &c. 

The " Double Dealer," however, was not so palpable a hit as the 
" Old Bachelor," but, at first, met with opposition. The critics 
having fallen foul of it, our "Swell" applied the scourge to that 
presumptuous body, in the " Epistle Dedicatory " to the " Eight 
Honourable Charles Montague." 

" I was conscious," said he, " where a true critic might have put 

me upon my defence. I was prepared for the attack, but 

I have not heard anything said sufficient to provoke an answer." 
He goes on — 

" But there is one thing at which I am more concerned than all 
the false criticisms that are made upon me ; and that is, some of 
the ladies are offended. I am heartily sorry for it ; for I declare, 
I would rather disoblige all the critics in the world than one of the 
fair sex. They are concerned that I have represented some women 
vicious and affected. How can I help it ? It is the business of a 

comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind I 

should be very glad of an opportunity to make my compliments to 
those ladies who are offended. But they can no more expect it in 
a comedy, than to be tickled by a surgeon when he is letting their 
blood:' 



CONG BE VE AND ADDISON. 65 

compare my version with the original. I shall never 
be ashamed to own that this excellent young man 
has showed me many faults which I have endea- 
voured to correct." 

The "excellent young man" was but three or four- 
and-twenty when the great Dryden thus spoke of 
him : the greatest literary chief in England, the 
veteran field-marshal of letters, himself the marked 
man of all Europe, and the centre of a school of 
wits, who daily gathered round his chair and tobaccc- 
pipe at Wills'. Pope dedicated his "Iliad" to him; 1 
Swift, Addison, Steele, all acknowledge Congr eve's 
rank, and lavish compliments upon him. Voltaire 
went to wait upon him as on one of the Represen- 
tatives of Literature — and the man who scarce praises 
any other living person, who flung abuse at Pope, 
and Swift, and Steele, and Addison — the Grub- 
street Timon, old John Dennis, 2 was hat in hand to 



1 " Instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, 
let me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship, with one of 
the most valuable men as well as finest writers of my age and 
country — one who has tried, and knows by his own experience, 
how hard an undertaking it is to do justice to Homer — and one 
who, I am sure, seriously rejoices with me at the period of Day- 
labours. To him, therefore, having brought this long work to a 
conclusion, I desire to dedicate it, and to have the honour and 
satisfaction of placing together in this manner the names of Mr. 
Congreve and of — A. Pope." Postscript to Translation of the Iliad 
of Homer. Mar. 25, 1720. 

2 " When asked why he listened to the praises of Dennis, he 



66 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Mr. Congreve ; and said, that when he retired from 
the stage, Comedy went with him. 

Nor was he less victorious elsewhere, He was 
admired in the drawing-rooms as well as the coffee- 
houses ; as much beloved in the side-box as on the 
stage. He loved, and conquered, and jilted the 
beautiful Bracegirdle, 1 the heroine of all his plays, 
the favourite of all the town of her day — and the 
Duchess of Marlborough, Marlborough's daughter, 
had such an admiration of him, that when he died 
she had an ivory figure made to imitate him, 2 and 
a large wax doll with gouty feet to be dressed just 
as the great Congreve's gouty feet were dressed in 
his great lifetime. He saved some money by his 
Pipe-office, and his Custom-house office, and his 
Hackney-coach office, and nobly left it, not to Brace- 
said, he had much rather be flattered than abused. Swift had a 
particular friendship for our author, and generally took him under 
his protection in his high authoritative manner." — Thos. Davies. 
Dramatic Miscellanies. 

1 " Congreve was very intimate for years with Mrs. Bracegirdle, 
and lived in the same street, his house very near hers, until his 
acquaintance with the young Duchess of Marlborough. He then 
quitted that house. The Duchess showed us a diamond necklace 
(which Lady Di. used afterwards to wear) that cost seven thousand 
pounds, and was purchased with the money Congreve left her. 
How much better would it have been to have given it to poor 
Mrs. Bracegirdle." — Dr. Youxg, Spence's Anecdotes. 

2 " A glass was put in the hand of the statue, which was sup- 
posed to bow to her Grace and to nod in approbation of what she 
spoke to it." — Thos. Davies. Dramatic Miscellanies. 



CONGEE YE AND ADDISON. 67 

girdle, who wanted it, 1 but to the Duchess of Marl- 
borough, who didn't. 2 

How can I introduce to you that merry and shame- 
less Comic Muse who won him such a reputation? 
Nell Gwynn's servant fought the other footman for 
having called his mistress a bad name; and in like 
manner, and with pretty like epithets, Jeremy Collier 
attacked that godless, reckless Jezebel, the English 
comedy of his time, and called her what Nell 
Gwynn's man's fellow-servants called Nell Gwynn's 
man's mistress. The servants of the theatre, Dryden, 

1 The sum Congreve left her was 200?., as is said in the " Dra- 
matic Miscellanies" of Tom Davies ; where are some particulars 
about this charming actress and beautiful woman. 

She had a " lively aspect," says Tom, on the authority of Gibber, 
and " such a glow of health and cheerfulness in her countenance, 
as inspired everybody with desire." " Scarce an audience saw her 
that were not half of them her lovers." 

Congreve and Kowe courted her in the persons of their lovers. 
"In Tamerlane, Howe courted her Selima, in the person of 

Axalla ; Congreve insinuated his addresses in his Valentine 

to her Angelica, in his 'Love for Love;' in his Osmyn to her 
Almena, in the ' Mourning Bride ; ' and, lastly, in his Mirabel to 
her Millamant, in the 'Way of the World.' Mirabel, the fine 
gentleman of the play, is, I believe, not very distant from the real 
character of Congreve." — Dramatic Miscellanies, vol. iii. 1784. 

She retired from the stage when Mrs. Oldfield began to be the 
public favourite. She died in 1748, in the eighty-fifth year of 
her age. 

2 Johnson calls his legacy the " accumulation of attentive parsi- 
mony, which," he continues, " though to her (the Duchess) super- 
fluous and useless, might have given great assistance to the 
ancient family from which he descended, at that time, by the 
imprudence of his relation, reduced to difficulties and distress." — 
Lives of the Poets. 

v 2 



68 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

Congreve, 1 and others, defended themselves with the 
same success, and for the same cause which set Nell's 
lackey lighting. She was a disreputable, daring, 
laughing, painted French baggage, that Comic Muse. 
She came over from the continent with Charles (who 
chose many more of his female friends there) at 
the Restoration — a wild, dishevelled Lai's, with eyes 
bright with wit and wine — a saucy court-favourite 
that sate at the King's knees, and laughed in his 
face, and when she showed her bold cheeks at her 
chariot- window, had some of the noblest and most 
famous people of the land bowing round her wheel. 

1 He replied to Collier, in the pamphlet called "Amendments 
of Mr. Collier's False and Imperfect Citations," &c. A specimen 
cr two are subjoined: — 

" The greater part of these examples which he has produced, 
are only demonstrations of his own impurity : they only savour 
of his utterance, and were sweet enough till tainted by his breath. 

"Where the expression is unblameable in its own pure and 
genuine signification, he enters into it, himself, like the evil spirit; 
he possesses the innocent phrase, and makes it bellow forth his 
own blasphemies. 

"If I do not return him civilities in calling him names, it is 

because I am not very well versed in his nomenclatures 

I will only call him Mr. Collier, and that I will call him as often 
as I think he shall deserve it. 

" The corruption of a rotten divine is the generation of a sour 
critic." 

" Congreve," says Dr. Johnson, " a very young man, elated 
with success, and impatient of censure, assumed an air of confi- 
dence and security The dispute was protracted through 

two years ; but at last Comedy grew more modest, and Collier 
lived to see the reward of his labours in the reformation of the 
theatre." — Life of Congreve. 



CONGEE VE AND ADDISON. 69 

She was kind and popular enough, that daring 
Comedy, that audacious poor Nell — she was gay and 
generous, kind, frank, as such people can afford to 
be : and the men who lived with her and laughed 
with her, took her pay and drank her wine, turned 
out when the Puritans hooted her, to fight and defend 
her. But the jade was indefensible, and it is pretty 
certain her servants knew it. 

There is life and death going on in every thing : 
truth and lies always at battle. Pleasure is always 
warring against self-restraint. Doubt is always cry- 
ing Psha, and sneering. A man in life, a humourist 
in writing about life, sways over to one principle or 
the other, and laughs with the reverence for right 
and the love of truth in his heart, or laughs at these 
from the other side. Didn't I tell you that dancing 
was a serious business to Harlequin ? I have read 
two or three of Congreve's plays over before speak- 
ing- of him ; and my feelings were rather like those, 
which I daresay most of us here have had, at 
Pompeii, looking at Sallust's house and the relics of 
an orgy, a dried wine-jar or two, a charred supper- 
table, the breast of a dancing girl pressed against 
the ashes, the laughing skull of a jester, a perfect 
stillness round about, as the Cicerone twangs his 
moral, and the blue sky shines calmly over the ruin. 
The Congreve muse is dead, and her song choked 
in Time's ashes. We gaze at the skeleton, and 



10 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

wonder at the life which once revelled in its mad 
veins. (We take the skull up, and muse over the 
frolic and daring, the wit, scorn, passion, hope, desire, 
with which that empty bowl once fermented. We 
think of the glances that allured, the tears that 
melted, of the bright eyes that shone in those vacant 
sockets ; and of lips whispering love, and cheeks 
dimpling with smiles, that once covered yon ghastly 
yellow framework. They used to call those teeth 
pearls once. See ! there 's the cup she drank from, 
the gold-chain she wore on her neck, the vase which 
held the rouge for her cheeks, her looking-glass, and 
the harp she used to dance to. Instead of a feast we 
find a grave-stone, and in place of a mistress, a few 
bones ! 

Reading in these plays now, is like shutting your 
ears and looking at people dancing. What does it 
mean? the measures, the grimaces, the bowing, 
shuffling and retreating, the cavalier seul advancing 
upon those ladies — those ladies and men twirling 
round at the end in a mad galop, after which every- 
body bows and the quaint rite is celebrated. With- 
out the music we can't understand that comic dance 
of the last century — its strange gravity and gaiety, 
its decorum or its indecorum. It has a jargon of its 
own quite unlike life ; a sort of moral of its own 
quite unlike life too. I'm afraid it's a Heathen 
mystery, symbolizing a Pagan doctrine; protesting, 



CONGREYE AND ADDISON. 71 

as the Pompeians very likely were, assembled at their 
theatre and laughing at their games — as Sallust 
and his friends, and their mistresses protested — 
crowned with flowers, with cups in their hands, 
against the new, hard, ascetic, pleasure-hating doc- 
trine, whose gaunt disciples, lately passed over from 
the Asian shores of the Mediterranean, were for break- 
ing the fair images of Yenus, and flinging the altars 
of Bacchus down. 

^_ I fancy poor Congreve's theatre is a temple of 
Pagan delights, and mysteries not permitted except 
among heathens. I fear the theatre carries down 
that ancient tradition and worship, as masons have 
carried their secret signs and rites from temple to 
temple. When the libertine hero carries off the 
beauty in the play, and the dotard is laughed to 
scorn for having the young wife: in the ballad, 
when the poet bid his mistress to gather roses while 
she may, and warns her that old Time is still a- 
flying: in the ballet, when honest Corydon courts 
Phillis under the treillage of the pasteboard cottage, 
and leers at her over the head of grandpapa in red 
stockings, who is opportunely asleep; and when 
seduced by the invitations of the rosy youth she 
comes forward to the footlights, and they perform on 
each other's tiptoes that pas which you all know, and 
which is only interrupted by old grandpapa awaking 
from his doze at the pasteboard chalet (whither he 



72 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

returns to take another nap in case the young people 
get an encore) : when Harlequin, splendid in youth, 
strength, and agility, arrayed in gold and a thousand 
colours, springs over the heads of countless perils, 
leaps down the throat of bewildered giants, and, 
dauntless and splendid, dances danger down : when 
Mr. Punch, that godless old rebel, breaks every law 
and laughs at it with odious triumph, outwits his 
lawyer, bullies the beadle, knocks his wife about the 
head, and hangs the hangman — don't you see in the 
comedy, in the song, in the dance, in the ragged little 
Punch's puppet-show — the Pagan protest ? Doesn't it 
seem as if Life puts in its plea and sings its comment ? 
Look how the lovers walk and hold each other's 
hands and whisper ! Sings the chorus — " There is 
nothing like love, there is nothing like youth, there 
is nothing like beauty of your spring time. Look ! 
how old age tries to meddle with merry sport ! Beat 
him with his own crutch, the wrinkled old dotard! 
There is nothing like youth, there is nothing like 
beauty, there is nothing like strength. Strength and 
valour win beauty and youth. Be brave and con- 
quer. Be young and happy. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy ! 
Would you know the Segreto per esser felice ? Here 
it is, in a smiling mistress and a cup of Falernian." 
As the boy tosses the cup and sings his song. Hark ! 
what is that chaunt coming nearer and nearer ? What 
is that dirge which will disturb us ? The lights of 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 73 

the festival burn dim — the cheeks turn pale — the 
voice quavers — and the cup drops on the floor. 
Who's there? "Death and Fate are at the gate, 
and they will come in.^ 

Congreve's comic feast flares with lights, and round 
the table, emptying their flaming bowls of drink, and 
exchanging the wildest jests and ribaldry, sit men 
and women, waited on by rascally valets and attend- 
ants as dissolute as their mistresses — perhaps the 
very worst company in the world. There doesn't 
seem to be a pretence of morals. At the head of 
the table sits Mirabel or Belmour (dressed in the 
French fashion and waited on by English imitators 
of Scapin and Frontin). Their calling is to be 
irresistible, and to conquer everywhere. Like the 
heroes of the chivalry story, whose long-winded 
loves and combats they were sending out of fashion, 
they are always splendid and triumphant — overcome 
all dangers, vanquish all enemies, and win the beauty 
at the end. Fathers, husbands, usurers are the foes 
these champions contend with. They are merciless 
in old age, invariably, and an old man plays the part 
in the dramas, which the wicked enchanter or the 
great blundering giant performs in the chivalry tales, 
who threatens and grumbles and resists — a huge 
stupid obstacle always overcome by the knight. It 
is an old man with a money-box : Sir Belmour his 
son or nephew spends his money and laughs at him. 



74 ENGLISH HUMOUIIISTS. 

It is an old man with a young wife whom he locks 
up: Sir Mirabel robs him of his wife, trips up his 
gouty old heels and leaves the old hunx — the old 
fool, what business has he to hoard his money, or to 
lock up blushing eighteen? Money is for youth, 
love is for youth, away with the old people. When 
Millamant is sixty, having of course divorced the 
first Lady Millamant, and married his friend Dori- 
court's grand-daughter out of the nursery — it will 
be his turn ; and young Belmour will make a fool 
of him. All this pretty morality you have in the 
comedies of William Congreve, Esq. They are full 
of wit. Such manners as he observes, he observes 
with great humour; but ah! it's a weary feast that 
banquet of wit where no love is. It palls very soon ; 
sad indigestions follow it and lonely blank headaches 
in the morning. 

I can't pretend to quote scenes from the splendid 
Congreve's plays 1 — which are undeniably bright, 

1 The scene of Valentine's pretended madness in "Love for 
Love," is a splendid specimen of Congreve's daring manner : — 

Scandal. — And have you given your master a hint of their plot 
upon him. ? 

Jeremy. — Yes, Sir ; he says he'll favour it, and mistake her for 
Angelica. 

Scandal. — It may make us sport. 

Foresight. — Mercy on us ! 

Valentine. — Husht — interrupt me not — I'll whisper predictions 
to thee, and thou shalt prophesie ; — I am truth, and can teach thy 
tongue a new trick, — I have told thee what 's passed — now I '11 tell 



ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 75 

witty, and daring — -any more than I conld ask you 
to hear the dialogue of a witty bargeman and a 

what's to come : — Dost thou know what will happen to-morrow ? 
Answer me not — for I will tell thee. To-morrow knaves will 
thrive thro' craft, and fools thro' fortune ; and honesty will go as 
it did, frost-nipt in a summer suit. Ask me questions concerning 
to-morrow. 

Scandal. — Ask him, Mr. Foresight. 

Foresight. — Pray what will be done at Court ? 

Valentine. — Scandal will tell you ; — I am truth, I never come 
there. 

Foresight. — In the city ? 
_._^ Valentine. — Oh, prayers will be said in empty churches at the 
usual hours. Yet you will see such zealous faces behind counters, 
as if religion were to be sold in every shop. Oh, things will go 
methodically in the city, the clocks will strike twelve at noon, and 
the horn'd herd buz in the Exchange at two. Husbands and wives 
will drive distinct trades, and care and pleasure separately occupy 
the family, Coffee-houses will be full of smoke and stratagem. 
And the cropt prentice that sweeps his master's shop in the morn- 
ing, may, ten to one, dirty his sheets before night. But there are 
two things, that you will see very strange ; winch are, wanton 
wives with their legs at liberty, and tame cuckolds with chains 
about their necks. But hold, I must examine you before I go 
further ; you look suspiciously. Are you a husband ? 

Foresight. — I am married. 

Valentine. — Poor creature! Is your wife of Covent-garden 
Parish? 

Foresight. — No ; St. Martiu's-in-the-Fields. 

Valentine. — Alas, poor man ! his eyes are sunk, and his hands 
shrivelled; his legs dwindled, and his back bow'd. Pray, pray, 
for a metamorphosis — change thy shape, and shake off age ; get 
the Medea's kettle and be boiled anew ; come forth with lab'ring 
callous hands, and chine of steel, and Atlas' shoulders. Let Talia- 
cotius trim the calves of twenty chairmen, and make the pedestals 
to stand erect upon, and look matrimony in the face. Ha, ha, ha ! 
That a man should have a stomach to a wedding supper, when 
the pidgeons ought rather to be laid to his feet ! ha, ha, ha ! 



76 CONGliEVE AND ADDISON, 

brilliant fishwoman exchanging compliments at Bil- 
lingsgate ; but some of his verses — they were amongst 

Foresight — His frenzy is very high now, Mr. Scandal. 

Scandal. — I believe it is a spring-tide. 

Foresight — Very likely — truly ; you understand these matters. 
Mr. Scandal, I shall he very glad to confer with you about these 
things he has uttered. His sayings are very mysterious and hiero- 
glyphical. 

Valentine. — Oh ! why would Angelica be absent from my eyes so 
long ? 

Jeremy. — She 's here, Sir. 

Mrs. Foresight — Now, Sister ! 

Mrs. Frail— Lord ! what must I say ? 

Scandal. — Humour him, Madam, by all means. 

Valentine. — Where is she ? Oh ! I see her ; she comes, like 
Riches, Health, and Liberty at once, to a despairing, starving, and 
abandoned wretch. Oh — welcome, welcome ! 

Mrs. Frail. — How d 'ye, Sir ? Can I serve you ? 

Valentine. — Hark'ee — I have a secret to tell you, Endymion and 
the moon shall meet us on Mount Zatmos, and we '11 be married in 
the dead of night. But say not a word. Hymen shall put his 
torch into a dark lanthorn, that it may be secret ; and Juno shall 
give her peacock poppy- water, that he may fold his ogling tail ; 
and Argus's hundred eyes be shut — ha ! Nobody shall know, but 
Jeremy. 

Mrs. Frail. — No, no ; we '11 keep it secret ; it shall be done 
presently. 

Valentine. — The sooner the better. Jeremy, come hither — closer 
— that none may overhear us. Jeremy, I can tell you news ; 
Angelica is turned nun, and I am turning friar, and yet we'll 
marry one another in spite of the Pope. Get me a cowl and 
beads, that I may play my part ; for she '11 meet me two hours 
hence in black and white, and a long veil to cover the project, and 
we won't see one another's faces 'till we have done something to be 
ashamed of, and then we '11 blush once for all 

Enter Tattle. ' 
Tattle. — Do you know me, Valentine? 
Valentine. — You ! — who are you ? No, I hope not. 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 77 

the most famous lyrics of the time 5 and pronounced 
equal to Horace by his contemporaries — may give 

Tattle. — I am Jack Tattle, your friend. 

Valentine. — My friend ! What to do ? I am no married man, 
and thou canst not lye with my wife ; I am very poor, and thou 
canst not horrow money of me. Then, what employment have I 
for a friend ? 

Tattle. — Hah ! A good open speaker, and not to be trusted 
with a secret. 

Angelica. — Do you know me, Valentine? 

Valentine. — Oh, very well. 

Angelica. — Who am I ? 

Valentine. — You 're a woman, one to whom Heaven gave beauty 
when it grafted roses on a brier. You are the reflection of Heaven 
in a pond ; and he that leaps at you is sunk. You are all white — 
a sheet of spotless paper — when you first are born ; but you are 
to be scrawled and blotted by every goose's quill. I know you ; 
for I loved a woman, and loved her so long that I found out a 
strange thing : I found out what a woman was good for. 

Tattle. — Ay ! pr'ythee, what 's that ? 

Valentine. — Why, to keep a secret. 

Tattle.— O Lord ! 

Valentine. — 0, exceeding good to keep a secret ; for, though she 
should tell, yet she is not to be believed. 

Tattle. — Hah ! Good again, faith. 

Valentine. — I would have musick. Sing me the song that I like. 
— Congreve. " Love for Love." 

There is a Mrs. Nickleby, of the year 1700, in Congreve's 
Comedy of " The Double Dealer," in whose character the author 
introduces some wonderful traits of roguish satire. She is prac- 
tised on by the gallants of the play, and no more knows how 
to resist them than any of the ladies above quoted could resist 
Congreve. 

.- -Lady Ply ant. — 0! reflect upon the honour of your conduct! 

/ Offering to pervert me [the joke is that the gentleman is pressing 

the lady for her daughter's hand, not for her own] — perverting 

me from the road of virtue, in which I have trod thus long, and 

never made one trip — not one faux pas; Oh, consider it; what 



78 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

an idea of his power, of Ms grace, of his daring 
manner, his magnificence in compliment, and his 



would you have to answer for, if you should provoke me to 
frailty ! Alas ! humanity is feeble, Heaven knows ! Very feeble, 
and unable to support itself. 

Mellefont — Where am I ? Is it day ? and am I awake ? 
Madam — 

Lady Plyant. — Lord, ask me the question ! I '11 swear I '11 
deny it — therefore don't ask me; nay, you shan't ask me; I swear 
I'll deny it. O Gemini, you have brought all the blood into 
my face ; I warrant I am as red as a turkey-cock ; O fie, cousin 
Mellefont ! 

Mellefont. — Nay, madam, hear me ; I mean- > 

Lady Plyant — Hear you? No, no; I'll deny you first, and 
hear you afterwards. For one does not know how one's mind 
may change upon hearing — hearing is one of the senses, and all 
the senses are fallible. I won't trust my honour, I assure you ; 
my honour is infallible and uncomatable. 

Mellefont. — For Heaven's sake, madam- 

Lady Plyant — 0, name it no more. Bless me, how can you 
talk of heaven, and have so much wickedness in your heart ? 
May be, you dosn't think it a sin. They say some of you gentle- 
men don't think it a sin ; but still, my honour, if it were no 

sin . But, then, to marry my daughter for the convenience 

of frequent opportunities — I '11 never consent to that : as sure as 
can be, I '11 break the match. 

Mellefont. — Death and amazement ! Madam, upon my knees 

Lady Plyant — Nay, nay, rise up ; come, you shall see my 
good-nature. I know love is powerful, and nobody can help his 
passion. 'Tis not your fault ; nor I swear, it is not mine. How 
can I help it, if I have charms ? And how can you help it, if you 
are made a captive ? I swear it is pity it should be a fault ; but, 
my honour. Well, but your honour, too — but the sin ! Well, but 
the necessity. Lord, here 's somebody coming. I dare not stay. 
Well, you must consider of your crime ; and strive as much as 
can be against it — strive, be sure ; but don't be melancholick — 
don't despair ; but never think that I '11 grant you anything. 
O Lord, no ; but be sure you lay all thoughts aside of the 



CONGREYE AND ADDISON. 79 

polished sarcasm. He writes as if lie was so accus- 
tomed to conquer, that he has a poor opinion of his 
victims. Nothing 's new except their faces, says he, 
" Every woman is the same." He says this in his 
first comedy, which he wrote languidly 1 in illness, 
when he was an ee excellent young man." Richelieu at 
eighty could have hardly said a more excellent thing. 

When he advances to make one of his conquests it 
is with a splendid gallantry, in full uniform and with 
the fiddles playing, like Grammont's French dandies 
attacking the breach of Lerida. 

" Cease, cease to ask her name,'* he writes of a 

young lady at the Wells at Tunbridge, whom he 

salutes with a magnificent compliment — 

" Cease, cease to ask her name, 
The crowned Muse's noblest theme* 
"Whose glory by immortal fame 

Shall only sounded be. 
But if you long to know, 
Then look round yonder dazzling row, 
Who most does like an angel show 

You may be sure 'tis she." 

marriage, for though I know you don't love Cynthia, only as a 
blind for your passion to me; yet it will make me jealous. O 
Lord, what did I say ? Jealous ! No, I can't be jealous ; for I 
must not love you ; therefore don't hope ; but don't despair 
neither. They 're coming ; I must fly. — The Double Dealer. Act 
2nd, scene v. page 156. 

1 " There seems to be a strange affectation in authors of appear- 
ing to have done everything by chance. The Old Bachelor was 
written for amusement in the languor of convalescence. Yet it 
is apparently composed with great elaborateness of dialogue, and 
incessant ambition of wit." — Johkson. Lives of the Poets. 



80 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

Here are lines about another beauty, who perhaps 
was not so well pleased at the poet's manner of cele- 
brating her — 

" When Lesbia first I saw, so heavenly fair, 
With eyes so bright and with that awful air, 
I thought my heart would durst so high aspire 
As hold as his who snatched celestial fire. 
But soon as e'er the beauteous idiot spoke, 
Forth from her coral lips such folly broke ; 
Like balm the trickling nonsense heal'd my wound, 
And what her eyes enthralled, her tongue unbound." 

Amoret is a cleverer woman than the lovely Lesbia, 

but the poet does not seem to respect one much more 

than the other; and describes both with exquisite 

satirical humour — 

" Pair Amoret is gone astray, 

Pursue and seek her every lover ; 
I '11 tell the signs by which you may 
The wandering shepherdess discover. 

Coquet and coy at once her air, 
Both studied, though both seem neglected ; 

Careless she is with artfal care, 
Affecting to be unaffected. 

With skill her eyes dart every glance, 

Yet change so soon you 'd ne'er suspect them ; 

For she 'd persuade they wound by chance, 
Though certain aim and art direct them. 

She likes herself, yet others hates 
For that which in herself she prizes ; 

And, while she laughs at them, forgets 
She is the thing which she despises." 

What could Amoret have done to bring down 
such shafts of ridicule upon her? Could she have 



CONGREVE AND ADDISOft. 81 

resisted the irresistible Mr. Congreve? Could any- 
body? Could Sabina, when she woke and heard 
such a bard singing under her window. See, he 
writes — 

"See! see, she wakes — Sabina wakes! ' 

And now the sun begins to rise: 
Less glorious is the morn, that breaks 

From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. 
With light united day they give; 

But different fates ere night fulfil : 
How many by his warmth will lire! 

How many will her coldness kill ! " 

Are you melted ? Don't you think him a divine 
man ? If not touched by the brilliant Sabina, hear 
the devout Selinda : — 

" Pious Selinda goes to prayers, 

If I but ask her favour ; 
And yet the silly fool 's in tears, 

If she believes I '11 leave her : 
Would I were free from this restraint, 

Or else had hopes to win her : 
Would she could make of me a saint, 

Or I of her a sinner ! " 

What a conquering air there is about these ! What 
an irresistible Mr. Congreve it is ! Sinner ! of course 
he will be a sinner, the delightful rascal ! Win her ; 
of course he will win her, the victorious rogue ! He 
knows he will: he must — with such a grace, with 
such a fashion, with such a splendid embroidered 
suit — you see him with red-heeled shoes deliciously 
turned out, passing a fair jewelled hand through his 
dishevelled periwig, and delivering a killing ogle 

a 



82 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

along with his scented billet. And Sabina ? What 
a comparison that is between the nymph and the 
sun ! The sun gives Sabina the pas, and does not 
venture to rise before her ladyship : the morn's bright 
beams are less glorious than her fair eyes : but 
before night everybody will be frozen by her glances : 
everybody but one lucky rogue who shall be name- 
less : Louis Quatorze in all his glory is hardly more 
splendid than our Phoebus Apollo of the Mall and 
Spring Garden. 1 

When Voltaire came to visit the great Congreve, 
the latter rather affected to despise his literary repu- 
tation, and in this perhaps the great Congreve was 
not far wrong. 2 A touch of Steele's tenderness is 



1 "Among those by whom it ('Wills's') was frequented, 
Southerne and Congreve were principally distinguished by Dryden's 

friendship But Congreve seems to have gained yet farther 

than Southerne upon Dryden's friendship. He was introduced to 
him by his first play, the celebrated ' Old Bachelor ' being put 
into the poet's hands to be revised. Dryden, after making a few 
alterations to fit it for the stage, returned it to the author with 
the high and just commendation, that it was the best first play he 
had ever seen." — Scott's Dryden, vol. i. p. 370. 

2 It was in Surrey-street, Strand (where he afterwards died), 
that Voltaire visited him, in the decline of his life. 

The anecdote in the text, relating to his saying that he wished 
"to be visited on no other footing than as a gentleman who led 
a life of plainness and simplicity," is common to all writers on 
the subject of Congreve, and appears in the English version of 
Voltaire's Letters concerning the English nation, published in London, 
1733, as also in Goldsmith's "Memoir of Voltaire." But it is 
worthy of remark, that it does not appear in the text of the same 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 83 

worth all his finery — a flash of Swift's lightning — a 
beam of Addison's pure sunshine, and his tawdry 
play-house taper is invisible. But the ladies loved 
him, and he was undoubtedly a pretty fellow. 1 



Letters in the edition of Voltaire's CEuvres Completes in the Pan- 
theon Liiteraire. Vol. v. of his works. (Paris, 1837.) 

" Celui de tous les Anglais qui a porte le plus loin la gloire du 
theatre comique est feu M. Congreve. H n'a fait que peu de 

pieces, mais toutes sont excellentes dans leur genre Vous 

y voyez partout le langage des honnetes gens avec des actions de 
fripon ; ce qui prouve qu'il connaissait bien son monde, et qu'il 
vivait dans ce qu'on appelle la bonne compagnie." — Voltaire. 
Lettres sur les Anglais, Let. 19. 

1 On the death of Queen Mary, he published a Pastoral — " The 
Mourning Muse of Alexis." Alexis and Menalcas sing alternately 
in the orthodox way. The Queen is called Pastoka. 

" I mourn Pastora dead, let Albion mourn, 
And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn," 

says Alexis. Among other phenomena, we learn that — 

" With their sharp nails themselves the Satyrs wound, 
And tug their shaggy beards, and bite with grief the ground," — 

(a degree of sensibility not always found in the Satyrs of that 
period) .... It continues — 

"Lord of these woods and wide extended plains, 
Stretch'd on the ground and close to earth his face, 
Scalding with tears the already faded grass. 
****** 
To dust must all that Heavenly beauty come ? 
And must Pastora moulder in the tomb ? 
Ah Death ! more fierce and unrelenting far, 
Than wildest wolves and savage tigers are ; 
With lambs and sheep their hunger is appeased, 
But ravenous Death the shepherdess has seized." 

This statement that a wolf eats but a sheep, whilst Death eats 
a shepherdess ; that figure of the " Great Shepherd," lying speech- 

6 2 



84 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

We have seen in Swift a humourous philosopher, 
whose truth frightens one, and whose laughter makes 
one melancholy. We have had in Congreve a hu- 

less on his stomach, in a state of despair which neither winds nor 
floods nor air can exhibit, are to be remembered in poetry surely, 
and this style was admired in its time by the admirers of the 
great Congreve ! 

In the " Tears of Amaryllis for Amyntas " (the young Lord 
Blandford, the great Duke of Marlborough's only son), Amaryllis 
represents Sarah Duchess ! 

The tigers and wolves, nature and motion, rivers and echoes, 
come into work here again. At the sight of her grief — 
" Tigers and wolves their wonted rage forego, 
And dumb distress and new compassion show, 
Nature herself attentive silence kept, 
And motion seemed suspended while she wept!" 

And Pope dedicated the Iliad to the author of these lines — and 
Dryden wrote to him in his great hand : 

" Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought, 
But Genius must be born and never can be taught. 
This is your portion, tins your native store ; 
Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, 
To Shakspeare gave as much she could not give him more. 

Maintain your Post : that 's all the fame you need, 
For 'tis impossible you should proceed ; 
Already I am worn with cares and age, 
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage : 
Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expence, 
I live a Kent-charge upon Providence : 
But you whom every Muse and Grace adorn, 
Whom I foresee to better fortune born, 
Be kind to my remains, and oh defend 
Against your Judgment your departed Friend 1 
Let not the insulting Foe my Fame pursue ; 
But shade those Lawrels which descend to You : 
And take for Tribute what these Lines express ; 
You merit more, nor could my Love do less." 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 85 

mourous observer of another school, to whom the 
world seems to have no moral at all, and whose 
ghastly doctrine seems to be that we should eat, 
drink, and be merry when we can, and go to the 
deuce (if there be a deuce) when the time comes. 
We come now to a humour that flows from quite a 
different heart and spirit — a wit that makes us laugh 
and leaves us good and happy ; to one of the kindest 
benefactors that society has ever had, and I believe 
you have divined already that I am about to mention 
Addison's honoured name. 

From reading over his writings, and the biogra- 
phies which we have of him, amongst which the 
famous article in the Edinburgh Review 1 may be 

This is a very different manner of welcome to that of our own 
day. In Shadwell, Higgons, Congreve, and the comic authors of 
their time, when gentlemen meet they fall into each other's arms, 
with " Jack, Jack, I must buss thee ; " or, " Fore George, Harry, 
I must kiss thee, lad." And in a similar manner the poets saluted 
their brethren. Literary gentlemen do not kiss now ; I wonder if 
they love each other better. 

Steele calls Congreve " Great Sir " and " Great Author ; " says 
"Well-dressed barbarians knew his awful name," and addresses 
him as if he were a prince ; and speaks of " Pastora " as one of 
the most famous tragic compositions. 

1 " To Addison himself we are bound by a sentiment as much 
like affection as any sentiment can be which is inspired by one 
who has been sleeping a hundred and twenty years in West- 
minster Abbey .... After full inquiry and impartial reflection 
we have long been convinced that he deserved as much love and 
esteem as can justly be claimed by any of our infirm and erring 
race." — Macaulat. 

" Many who praise virtue do no more than praise it. Yet it i3 



86 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

cited as a magnificent statue of the great writer and 
moralist of the last age, raised by the love and the 
marvellous skill and genius of one of the most 
illustrious artists of our own ; looking at that calm, 
fair face, and clear countenance — those chiselled 
features pure and cold, I can't but fancy that this 
great man, in this respect, like him of whom we 
spoke in the last lecture, was also one of the lonely 
ones of the world. Such men have very few equals, 
and they don't herd with those. It is in the nature 
of such lords of intellect to be solitary — they are in 
the world but not of it; and our minor struggles, 
brawls, successes, pass under them/ 

Kind, just, serene, impartial, his fortitude not tried 
beyond easy endurance, his affections not much used, 
for his books were his family, and his society was in 
public; admirably wiser, wittier, calmer, and more 
instructed than almost every man with whom he met, 
how could Addison suffer, desire, admire, feel much ? 
I may expect a child to admire me for being taller or 
writing more cleverly than she ; but how can I ask 

reasonable to believe tbat Addison's profession and practice were 
at no great variance ; since, amidst that storm of faction in which 
most of his life was passed, though his station made him con- 
spicuous, and his activity made him formidable, the character 
given him by his friends was never contradicted by his enemies. 
Of those with whom interest or opinion united him, be had not 
only the esteem but the kindness ; and of otbers, whom the 
violence of opposition drove against him, though he might lose 
the love, he retained the reverence." — Johnsojj. 



CON<HlEVE AND ADDISON. 87 

my superior to say that I am a wonder when he 
knows better than I ? In Addison's days you could 
scarcely show him a literary performance, a sermon, 
or a poem, or a piece of literary criticism, but he felt 
he could do better. His justice must have made him 
indifferent. He didn't praise, because he measured 
his compeers by a higher standard than common 
people have. 1 How was he who was so tall to look 
up to any but the loftiest genius? He must have 
stooped to put himself on a level with most men. 
By that profusion of graciousness and smiles, with 
which Goethe or Scott, for instance, greeted almost 
every literary beginner, every small literary adven- 
turer who came to his court and went away charmed 
from the great king's audience, and cuddling to his 
heart the compliment which his literary majesty had 
paid him — each of the two goodnatured potentates of 
letters brought their star and riband into discredit. 
Everybody had his Majesty's orders. Everybody 
had his Majesty's cheap portrait, on a box surrounded 
with diamonds worth twopence a-piece. A very 
great and just and wise man ought not to praise 
indiscriminately, but give his idea of the truth. 

1 " Addison was perfect good company with intimates, and had 
something more charming in his conversation than I ever knew in 
any other man ; hut with any mixture of strangers, and some- 
times only with one, he seemed to preserve Ins dignity much, with 
a stiff sort of silence." — Pope (Spence's Anecdotes). 



88 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Addison praises the ingenious Mr. Pinkethman : 
Addison praises the ingenious Mr. Doggett the actor, 
whose benefit is coming off that night: Addison 
praises Don Saltero : Addison praises Milton with all 
his heart, bends his knee and frankly pays homage to 
that imperial genius. 1 But between those degrees of 
his men his praise is very scanty. I don't think the 
great Mr. Addison liked young Mr. Pope, the Papist, 
much ; I don't think he abused him. But when Mr. 
Addison's men abused Mr. Pope, I don't think Ad- 
dison took his pipe out of his mouth to contradict 
them. 2 

Addison's father was a clergyman of good repute 

1 " Milton's chief talent, and indeed his distinguishing excel- 
lence lies in the suhlimity of his thoughts. There are others of 
the modern, who rival him in every other part of poetry ; but in 
the greatness of his sentiments he triumphs over all the poets, 
both modern and ancient, Homer alone excepted. It is impossible 
for the imagination of man to disturb itself with greater ideas 
than those which he has laid together in his first, second, and 
sixth books." — Spectator, No. 279. 

" If I were to name a poet that is a perfect master in all these 
arts of working on the imagination, I think Milton may pass for 
one." — Ibid., No. 417. 

These famous papers appeared in each Saturday's Spectator, 
from January 19th to May 3rd, 1712. Besides his services to 
Milton, we may place those he did to Sacred Music. 

2 "Addison was very kind to me at first, but my bitter enemy 
afterwards." — Pope (Spence's Anecdotes). 

" ' Leave him as soon as you can,' said Addison to me, speaking 
of Pope ; " he will certainly play you some devilish trick else : he 
has an appetite to satire.' " — Lady Wortley Montagu (Spence's 
Anecdotes). 



CONGEE YE AND ADDISON. 89 

in Wiltshire, and rose in the church. 1 His famous 
son never lost his clerical training and scholastic 
gravity, and was called " a parson in a t ye-wig " 2 in 
London afterwards at a time when tye-wigs were 
only worn by the laity, and the fathers of theology 
did not think it decent to appear except in a full 
bottom. Having been at school at Salisbury, and 
the Charterhouse, in 1687, when he was fifteen years 
old he went to Queen's College, Oxford, where he 
speedily began to distinguish himself by the making 



1 Lancelot Addison, his father, was the son of another Lancelot 
Addison, a clergyman in Westmoreland. He became Dean of 
Lichfield and Archdeacon of Coventry. 

2 " The remark of Mandeville, who, when he had passed an 
evening in his company, declared that he was c a parson in a tye- 
wig,' can detract little from his character. He was always re- 
served to strangers, and was not incited to -uncommon freedom 
by a character like that of Mandeville." — Johnson {Lives of the 
Poets). 

" Old Jacob Tonson did not like Mr. Addison : he had a quarrel 
with him, and, after his quitting the secretaryship, used fre- 
quently to say of him — ' One day or other you'll see that man a 
bishop — I 'm sure he looks that way ; and indeed I ever thought 
him a priest in his heart.' " — Pope"( Spence's Anecdotes'). 

"Mr. Addison stayed above a year at Blois. He would rise as 
early as between two and three in the height of summer, and lie 
a bed till between eleven and twelve in the depth of winter. He 
was untalkative whilst here, and often thoughtful : sometimes so 
lost in thought, that I have come into his room and staid five 
minutes there before he has known anything of it. He had his 
masters generally at supper with him ; kept very little company 
beside ; and had no amour that I know of; and I think I should 
have known it, if he had had anv." — Abbe Philippeaux of Blois 
"Spence's Anecdotes). 



90 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

of Latin verses. The beautiful and fanciful poem of 
" The Pigmies and the Cranes " is still read by lovers 
of that sort of exercise; and verses are extant in 
honour of King William, by which it appears that it 
was the loyal youth's custom to toast that sovereign 
in bumpers of purple Lyscus ; and many more works 
are in the Collection, including one on the peace of 
Ryswick, in 1697, which was so good that Montague 
got him a pension of 3Q0Z. a year, on which Addison 
set out on his travels. 

During his ten years at Oxford, Addison had 
deeply imbued himself with the Latin poetical 
literature, and had these poets at his fingers' ends 
when he travelled in Italy. 1 His patron went out of 
office, and his pension was unpaid : and hearing that 
this great scholar, now eminent and known to the 
literati of Europe (the great Boileau, 2 upon perusal 
of Mr. Addison's elegant hexameters, was first made 
aware that England was not altogether a barbarous 
nation) — hearing that the celebrated Mr. Addison, of 
Oxford, proposed to travel as governor to a young 
gentleman on the grand tour, the great Duke of 



1 "His knowledge of the Latin poets, from Lucretius and Ca- 
tullus down to Claudian and Prudentius, was singularly exact and 
profound." — Macaulay. 

2 "Our country owes it to him, that the famous Monsieur 
Boileau first conceived an opinion of the English genius for 
poetry, by perusing the present he made him of the Musce 
Anglicancc." — Tickell (Preface to Addison's Works). 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 91 

Somerset proposed to Mr. Addison to accompany his 
son, Lord Hartford. 

Mr. Addison was delighted to be of use to his 
Grace and his lordship, his Grace's son, and ex- 
pressed himself ready to set forth. 

His Grace the Duke of Somerset now announced 
to one of the most famous scholars of Oxford and 
Europe that it was his gracious intention to allow 
my Lord Hartford's tutor one hundred guineas per 
annum. Mr. Addison wrote back that his services 
were his Grace's, but he by no means found his 
account in the recompense for them. The negotia- 
tion was broken off. They parted with a profusion 
of congdes on one side and the other. 

Addison remained abroad for some time, living 
in the best society of Europe. How could he do 
otherwise? He must have been one of the finest 
gentlemen the world ever saw: at all moments of 
life serene and courteous, cheerful and calm. 1 He 
could scarcely ever have had a degrading thought. 
He might have omitted a virtue or two, or many, 
but could not have had many faults committed for 
which he need blush or turn pale. When warmed 
into confidence, his conversation appears to have 

1 " It was my fate to be much with the wits ; my father was 
acquainted with all of them. Addison was the best company in the 
world. I never knew anybody that had so much wit as Con- 
"grevc." — Lady Woktley Montagu (Spence's Anecdotes). 



02 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

been so delightful that the greatest wits sat wrapt 
and charmed to listen to him. No man bore poverty 
and narrow fortune with a more lofty cheerfulness. 
His letters to his friends at this period of his life, 
when he had lost his government pension and given 
up his college chances, are full of courage and a gay 
confidence and philosophy: and they are none the 
worse in my eyes, and I hope not in those of his last 
and greatest biographer (though Mr. Macaulay is 
bound to own and lament a certain weakness for 
wine, which the great and good Joseph Addison 
notoriously possessed, in common with countless 
gentlemen of his time), because some of the letters 
are written when his honest hand was shaking a 
little in the morning after libations to purple Lyseus 
over-night. He was fond of drinking the healths of 
his friends: he writes to Wyche, 1 of Hamburgh, 



1 MR. ADDISON TO MR. WTCHE. 

" Dear Sir, 

" My hand at present begins to grow steady enough for a 
letter, so the properest use I can put it to is to thank ye honest 
gentleman that set it a shaking. I have had this morning a 
desperate design in my head to attack you in verse, which I 
should certainly have done could I have found out a rhyme to 
rummer. But though you have escaped for ye present, you are 
not yet out of danger, if I can a little recover my talent at 
Crambo. I am sure, in whatever way I write to you, it will be 
impossible for me to express ye deep sense I have of ye many 
favours you have lately shown me. , I shall only tell you that 
Hambourg has been the pleasantest stage I have met with in my 
travails. If any of my friends wonder at me for living so long in 



CONGBEVE AND ADDISON. 93 

gratefully remembering Wyche's "hoc." "I have 
been drinking your health to-day with Sir Richard 
Shirley," he writes to Bathurst. " I have lately had 
the honour to meet my Lord Effingham at Amster- 
dam, where we have drunk Mr. Wood's health a 
hundred times in excellent champagne," he writes 
again. Swift 1 describes him over his cups, when 



that place, I dare say it will be thought a very good excuse when 
I tell him Mr. Wyche was there. As your company made our 
stay at Hambourg agreeable, your wine has given i" all ye satis- 
faction that we have found in our journey through Westphalia. 
If drinking your health will do you any good, you may expect to 
be as long lived as Methusaleh, or, to use a more familiar instance, 
as ye oldest hoc in ye cellar. I hope ye two pair of legs that was 
left a swelling behind us are by this time come to their shapes 
again. I can't forbear troubling you with my hearty respects to 
ye owners of them, and desiring you to believe me always, 

" Dear Sir, 

"Yours, &c. 
" To Mr. "Wyche, His Majesty's Eesident at Hambourg, 

"May, 1703." 
— From the "Life of Addison," by Miss Aikin. Vol. i. p. 146. 

1 It is pleasing to remember that the relation between Swift 
and Addison was, on the whole, satisfactory, from first to last. 
The value of Swift's testimony, when nothing personal inflamed 
his vision or warped his judgment, can be doubted by nobody. 

"Sept. 10, 1710. — I sat till ten in the evening with Addison and 
Steele. 

" 11. — Mr. Addison and I dined together at his lodgings, and I 
sat with him part of this evening. 

"18.— To-day I dined with Mr. Stratford at Mr. Addison's 

retirement near Chelsea I will get what good offices I 

can from Mr. Addison. 

" 27.— To day all our company dined at Will Franklands, with 
Steele and Addison, too. 



94 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTiS. 

Joseph yielded to a temptation which Jonathan 
resisted. Joseph was of a cold nature, and needed 
perhaps the fire of wine to warm his blood. If he 
was a parson, he wore a tye-wig, recollect. A 
better and more Christian man scarcely ever breathed 
than Joseph Addison. If he had not that little 
weakness for wine — why, we could scarcely have 
found a fault with him, and could not have liked him 
as we do. 1 

x "~At thirty-three years of age, this most distin- 
guished wit, scholar, and gentleman was without a 



"29.— I dined with Mr. Addison, &c."— Journal to Stella. 

Addison inscribed a presentation copy of his Travels " To Dr. 
Jonathan Swift, the most agreeable companion, the truest friend, 
and the greatest genius of his age." — (Scott. Erom the informa- 
tion of Mr. Theophilus Swift.) 

" Mr. Addison, who goes over first secretary, is a most excel- 
lent person ; and being my most intimate friend, I shall use all 
my credit to set him right in his notions of persons and things." — 
Letters. 

"I examine my heart, and can find no other reason why I write 
to you now, besides that great love and esteem I have always had 
for you. I have nothing to ask you either for my friend or for 
myself." — Swift to Addison (1717). Scott's Swift. Yoi. xix. 
p. 274. 

Political differences only dulled for a while their friendly com- 
munications. Time renewed them ; and Tickell enjoyed Swift's 
friendship as a legacy from the man with whose memory his is so 
honourably connected. 

1 " Addison usually studied all the morning ; then met his party 
at Button's ; dined there, and stayed five or six hours, and some- 
times far into the night. I was of the company for about a year, 
but found it too much for me : it hurt my health, and so I quitted 
it." — PorE (Spence's Anecdotes). 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 95 

profession and an income. His book of " Travels " 
nad failed : his " Dialogues on Medals " had had no 
particular success: his Latin verses, even though 
reported the best since Virgil, or Statius at any 
rate, had not brought him a Government-place, and 
Addison was living up two shabby pair of stairs in 
the Hay market (in a poverty over which old Samuel 
Johnson rather chuckles), when in these shabby 
rooms an emissary from Government and Fortune 
came and found him. 1 A poem was wanted about 
the Duke of Marlborough's victory of Blenheim. 
Would Mr. Addison write one? Mr. Boyle, after- 
wards Lord Carleton, took back the reply to the 
Lord Treasurer Godolphin, that Mr. Addison would. 
When the poem had reached a certain stage, it was 
carried to Godolphin; and the last lines which he 
read were these : — 

" But O, my muse ! what numbers wilt thou find 
To sing the furious troops in battle join'd ? 
Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound, 
The victor's shouts and dying groans confound ; 
The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, 
And all the thunders of the battle rise. 
'T was then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved, 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 



1 " When he returned to England (in 1702), with a meanness of 
appearance which gave testimony of the difficulties to which he 
had been reduced, he found his old patrons out of power, and was, 
therefore, for a time, at full leisure for the cultivation of his 
mind." — Johnson {Lives of the Poets). 



96 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war : 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons lent the timely aid, 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
So when an angel by divine command, 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land 
(Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed), 
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; 
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
Hides on the whirwind and directs the storm." 

Addison left off at a good moment. That simile 
was pronounced to be of the greatest ever produced 
in poetry. That angel, that good angel, flew off 
with Mr. Addison, and landed him in the place of 
Commissioner of Appeals — vice Mr. Locke provi- 
dentially promoted. In the following year, Mr. 
Addison went to Hanover with Lord Halifax, and 
the year after was made Under-Secretary of State. 
O angel visits ! you come " few and far between " to 
literary gentlemen's lodgings! Your wings seldom 
quiver at second-floor windows now ! 

You laugh ? You think it is in the power of few 
writers now-a-days to call up such an angel ? Well 
perhaps not ; but permit us to comfort ourselves by 
pointing out that there are in the poem of the 
" Campaign " some as bad lines as heart can desire : 
and to hint that Mr. Addison did very wisely in not 
going further with my Lord Godolphin than that 
angelical simile. Do allow me, just for a little harm- 



CONGEE VE AND ADDISON. 97 

less mischief, to read you some of the lines which 
follow. Here is the interview between the Duke and 
the King of the Romans after the battle : — 

" Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway 
Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey, 
Whose boasted ancestry so high extends 
That in the pagan Gods his lineage ends, 
Comes from afar, in gratitude to own 
The great supporter of his father's throne. 
"What tides of glory to his bosom ran 
Clasped in th' embraces of the godlike man ! 
How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixt, 
To see such fire with so much sweetness mixt ! 
Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, 
So learned and finished for the camp or court ! " 

How many fourth-form boys at Mr. Addison's 
school of Charter-house could write as well as that 
now ? The " Campaign " has blunders, triumphant 
as it was ; and weak points like all campaigns. 1 

In the year 1718 "Cato" came out. Swift has 
left a description of the first night of the performance. 
All the laurels of Europe were scarcely sufficient for 
the author of this prodigious poem. 2 Laudations of 

1 "Mr. Addison wrote very fluently; but he was sometimes very 
slow and scrupulous in correcting. He would show his verses to 
several friends ; and would alter almost everything that any of 
them hinted at as wrong. He seemed to be too diffident of him- 
self; and too much concerned about his character as a poet ; or 
(as he worded it), too solicitous for that kind of praise, which, 
God knows, is but a very little matter after all ! " — Pope (Spence's 
Anecdotes). 

2 "As to poetical affairs," says Pope, in 1713, " I am content at 
present to be a bare looker-on Cato was not so much the 

H 



98 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Whig and Tory chiefs, popular ovations, complimen- 
tary garlands from literary men, translations in all 

wonder of Eorae in his days, as he is of Britain in ours ; and 
though all the foolish industry possible has been used to make 
it thought a party play, yet what the author once said of another 
may the most properly in the world be applied to him on this 
occasion : 

" ' Envy itself is dumb — in wonder lost; 

And factions strive who shall applaud him most.' 

" The numerous and violent claps of the Whig party on the 

one side of the theatre were echoed back by the Tories on the 

other ; while the author sweated behind the scenes with concern 

to find their applause proceeding more from the hands than the 

head I believe you have heard that, after all the applauses 

of the opposite faction, my Lord Bolingbroke sent for Booth, who- 
played Cato, into the hox, and presented him with fifty guineas 
in acknowledgment (as he expressed it) for defending the cause 
of liberty so well against a perpetual dictator." — Pope's Letter to 
Sir W. Trumbull. 

Cato ran for thirty-five nights without interruption. Pope 
wrote the Prologue, and Garth the Epilogue. 

It is worth noticing how many things in Cato keep their ground 
as habitual quotations, e.g.: — 

" . . . . big with the fate 
Of Cato and of Pome." 
" 'Tis not in mortals to command success, 

But we '11 do more, Sempronius, we '11 deserve it." 
" Blesses his stars, and thinks it luxury." 
" I think the Pomans call it Stoicism.' ; 
" My voice is still for war." 

" When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, 
The post of honour is a private station." 
Not to mention — 

" The woman who deliberates is lost." 
And the eternal — 

" Plato, thou reasonest well," 
which avenges, perhaps, on the public their neglect of the play ! 



CONGEE VE AND ADDISON. 99 

languages, delight and homage from all— save from 
John Dennis in a minority of one — Mr. Addison was 
called the "great Mr. Addison" after this. The 
Coffee-house Senate saluted him Divus : it was heresy 
to question that decree. 

Meanwhile he was writing political papers and 
advancing in the political profession. He went Secre- 
tary to Ireland. He was appointed Secretary of 
State in 1717. And letters of his are extant, bearing 
date some year or two before, and written to young 
Lord Warwick, in which he addresses him as (( my 
dearest lord," and asks affectionately about his 
studies, and writes very prettily about nightingales, 
and birds'-nests, which he has found at Fulham for 
his lordship. Those nightingales were intended to 
warble in the ear of Lord Warwick's mamma. 
Addison married her ladyship in 1716; and died at 
Holland House three years after that splendid but 
dismal union. 1 



1 " The lady was persuaded to marry him on terms much like 
those on which a Turkish princess is espoused — to whom the 
Sultan is reported to pronounce, 'Daughter, I give thee this man 
for thy slave.' The marriage, if uncontradicted report can be 
credited, made no addition to his happiness; it neither found them, 

nor made them, equal Rowe's ballad of ' The Despairing 

Shepherd' is said to have been written, either before or after 
marriage, upon this memorable pair." — Dr. Johnson. 

" I received the news of Mr. Addison's being declared Secretary 
of State with the less surprise, in that I knew that post was 
almost offered to him before. At that time he declined it, and I 
really believe that he would have done well to ltave declined it 

n 2 



100 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

But it is not for liis reputation as the great author 
of " Cato " and the (i Campaign," or for his merits 
as Secretary of State, or for his rank and high dis- 
tinction as my Lady Warwick's hushand, or for his 
eminence as an Examiner of political questions on 
the Whig side, or a Guardian of British liberties, 
that we admire Joseph Addison. It is as a Tatler 
of small talk and a Spectator of mankind, that we 
cherish and love him, and owe as much pleasure to 

now. Such a post as that, and such a wife as the Countess, do 
not seem to be, in prudence, eligible for a man that is asthmatic, 
and we may see the day when he will be heartily glad to resign 
them both." — Lady Wortlet Montagu to Pope. Works, Lord 
Wharncliffe's edit, vol. ii. p. 111. 

% The issue of this marriage was a daughter, Charlotte Addison, 
who inherited, on her mother's death, the estate of Bilton, near 
Rugby, which her father had purchased, and died, unmarried, at 
an advanced age. She was of weak intellect. 

Rowe appears to have been faithful to Addison during his 
courtship, for his Collection contains ' Stanzas to Lady Warwick, 
on Mr. Addison's going to Ireland,' in which her ladyship is called 
' Chloe,' and Joseph Addison, ' Lycidas ; ' besides the ballad men- 
tioned by the Doctor, and which is entitled ' Colin's Complaint.' 
But not even the interest attached to the name of Addison could 
induce the reader to peruse this composition, though one stanza 
may serve as a specimen : — 

" What though I have skill to complain — 
Though the Muses my temples have crowned ; 
What though, when they hear my sweet strain, 
The Muses sit weeping around. 

" Ah, Colin ! thy hopes are in vain j 
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign ; 
Thy false one inclines to a swain 
Whose music is sweeter than thine." 






CONGEEVE AND ADDISON. 101 

him as to any human being that ever wrote, He 
came in that artificial age, and began to speak with 
his noble, natural voice. He came, the gentle satirist, 
who hit no unfair blow; the kind judge who casti- 
gated only in smiling. While Swift went about, 
hanging and ruthless — a literary Jeffries — in Addi- 
son's kind court only minor cases were tried: only 
peccadilloes and small sins against society : only 
a dangerous libertinism in tuckers and hoops ; ! ora 

1 One of the most humourous of these is the paper on Hoops, 
which, the " Spectator " tell us, particularly pleased his friend 
Sir Roger. 

" Mr. Spectator, 

" You have diverted the town almost a whole month at the 
expense of the country ; it is now high time that you should give 
the country their revenge. Since your withdrawing from this 
place, the fair sex are run into great extravagances. Their petti- 
coats, which began to heave and swell before you left us, are now 
blown up into a most enormous concave, and rise every day more 
and more; in short, sir, since our women knew themselves to be 
out of the eye of the Spectator, they will be kept within no 
compass. You praised them a little too soon, for the modesty of 
their head-dresses ; for as the humour of a sick person is often 
driven out of one limb into another, their superfluity of orna- 
ments, instead of being entirely banished, seems only fallen from 
their heads upon their lower parts. What they have lost in height 
they make up in breadth, and, contrary to ail rules of architecture, 
widen the foundations at the same time that they shorten the 
superstructure. 

" The women give out, in defence of these wide bottoms, that 
they are very airy and very proper for the season ; but this I look 
upon to be only a pretence and a piece of art, for it is well known 
we have not had a more moderate summer these many years, so 
that it is certain the heat they complain of cannot be in the 
weather; besides, I would fain ask these tender-constitutioned 



102 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

nuisance in the abuse of beaux' canes and snuff-boxes. 
It may be a lady is tried for breaking the peace of 
our sovereign lady Queen Anne, and ogling too 
dangerously from the side-box : or a Templar for 
beating the watch, or breaking Priscian's head : or a 
citizen's wife for caring too much for the puppet- 
show, and too little for her husband and children : 
every one of the little sinners brought before him is 
amusing, and he dismisses each with the pleasantest 
penalties and the most charming words of admo- 
nition, 

Addison wrote his papers as gaily as if he was 



' 



ladies, why they should require more cooling than their mothers 
before them ? 

" I find several speculative persons are of opinion that our sex 
has of late years been very saucy, and that the hoop-petticoat is 
made use of to keep us at a distance. It is most certain that a 
woman's honour cannot be better entrenched than after this 
manner, in circle within circle, amidst such a variety of outworks 
and lines of circumvallation. A female who is thus invested in 
whalebone is sufficiently secured against the approaches of an 
ill-bred fellow, who might as well think of Sir George Etheridge's 
way of making love in a tub as in the midst of so many hoops. 

" Among these various conjectures, there are men of super- 
stitious tempers who look upon the hoop-petticoat as a kind of 
prodigy. Some will have it that it portends the downfall of the 
French king, and observes, that the farthingale appeared in England 
a little before the ruin of the Spanish monarchy. Others are of 
opinion that it foretells battle and bloodshed, and believe it of the 
same prognostication as the tail of a blazing star. For my part, 
I am apt to think that it is a sign that multitudes are coming 
into the world rather than going out of it," &c, &c— Spectator, 
No. 127. 



CON&HEVE AND ADDISON. 103 

going out for a holiday. When Steele's "Tatler" 
first began his prattle, Addison, then in Ireland, 
caught at his friend's notion, poured in paper after 
paper, and contributed the stores of his mind, the 
sweet fruits of his reading, the delightful gleanings 
of his daily observation, with a wonderful profusion, 
and as it seemed an almost endless fecundity. He 
was six-and- thirty years old : fall and ripe. He had 
not worked crop after crop from his brain, manuring 
hastily, subsoiling indifferently, cutting and sowing 
and cutting a^ain, like other luckless cultivators of 
letters. He had not done much as yet ; a few Latin 
poems — graceful prolusions ; a polite book of travels ; 
a dissertation on medals, not very deep; four acts 
of a tragedy, a great classical exercise; and the 
" Campaign," a large prize poem that won an enor- 
mous prize. But with his friend's discovery of the 
" Tatler," Addison's calling was found, and the most 
delightful talker in the world began to speak. He 
does not go very deep : let gentlemen of a profound 
genius, critics accustomed to the plunge of the bathos, 
console themselves by thinking that he couldnH go 
very deep. There are no traces of suffering in his 
writing. He was so good, so honest, so healthy, so 
cheerfully selfish, if I must use the word. There 
is no deep sentiment. I doubt, until after his mar- 
riage, perhaps, whether he ever lost his night's rest 
or his day's tranquillity about any woman in his 



104 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

life: 1 whereas poor Dick Steele had capacity enough 
to melt, and to languish, and to sigh, and to cry his 
honest old eyes out, for a dozen. His writings do 
not show insight into or reverence for the love of 
women, which I take to be, one the consequence of 
the other. He walks about the world watching their 
pretty humours, fashions, follies, flirtations, rivalries ; 
and noting them with the most charming archness. 
He sees them in public, in the theatre, or the as- 
sembly, or the puppet-show ; or at the toy-shop 
higgling for gloves and lace ; or at the auction, 
battling together over a blue porcelain dragon, or a 
darling monster in Japan ; or at church, eyeing 
the width of their rivals' hoops, or the breadth of 
their laces* as they sweep down the aisles. Or he 
looks out of his window at the Garter in St. James's- 
street, at Ardelia's coach, as she blazes to the 
drawing-room with her coronet and six footmen ; and 
remembering that her father was a Turkey merchant 
in the city, calculates how many sponges went to 
purchase -her earring, and how many drums of figs 
to build her coach-box ; or he demurely watches 
behind a tree in Spring Garden as Saccharissa(whom 
he knows under her mask) trips out of her chair to 
the alley where Sir Fopling is waiting. He sees 

1 " Mr. Addison has not had one epithalamium that I can hear 
of, and must even be reduced, like a poorer and a better poet, 
Spenser, to make his own." — Pope's Letters. 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 105 

only the public life of women. Addison was one of 
the most resolute club-men of his day. He passed 
many hours daily in those haunts. Besides drinking, 
which alas ! is past praying for ; you must know it, 
he owned, too, ladies, that he indulged in that odious 
practice of smoking. Poor fellow ! He was a man's 
man, remember. The only woman he did know, he 
didn't write about. I take it there would not have 
been much humour in that story. 

He likes to go and sit in the smoking-room at the 
Grecian, or the Devil ; to pace 'Change and the 
Mall 1 — to mingle in that great club of the world — 

1 " I have observed that a reader seldom peruses a book with 
pleasure till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or a 
fair man, of a mild or a choleric disposition, married or a bachelor; 
with other particulars of a like nature, that conduce very much 
to the right understanding of an author. To gratify this curiosity, 
which is so natural to a reader, I design this paper and my next 
as prefatory discourses to my following writings ; and shall give 
some account in them of the persons that are engaged in this 
work. As the chief trouble of compiling, digesting, and correct- 
ing will fall to my share, I must do myself the justice to open the 

work with my own history There runs a story in the 

family, that when my mother was gone with child of me about 
three months, she dreamt that she was brought to bed of a judge. 
Whether this might proceed from a lawsuit which was then 
depending in the family, or my father's being a justice of the 
peace, I cannot determine ; for I am not so vain as to think it 
presaged any dignity that I should arrive at in my future life, 
though that was the interpretation which the neighbourhood put 
upon it. The gravity of my behaviour at my very first appear- 
ance in the world, and all the time that I sucked, seemed to favour 
my mother's dream; for, as she has often told me, I threw away 



106 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

sitting alone in it somehow: having good-will and 
kindness for every single man and woman in it — 

my rattle before I was two months old, and would not make use 
of my coral till they had taken away the bells from it. 

"As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it 
remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find that during ray 
nonage I had the reputation of a very sullen youth, but was 
always the favourite of my schoolmaster, who used to say that 
my parts were solid and would wear well. I had not been long at 
the university before I distinguished myself by a most profound 
silence ; for during the space of eight years, excepting in the 
public exercises of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of an 
hundred words ; and, indeed, I do not remember that I ever spoke 
three sentences together in my whole life 

"I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am 
frequently seen in most public places, though there are not more 

than half-a-dozen of my select friends that know me There 

is no place of general resort wherein I do not often make my 
appearance; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round 
of politicians at Wills', and listening with great attention to the 
narratives that are made in these little circular audiences. Some- 
times I smoke a pipe at Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to 
nothing but the Postman, overhear the conversation of every table 
in the room. I appear on Tuesday night at St. James's Coffee- 
house ; and sometimes join the little committee of politics in the 
inner room, as one who comes to hear and improve. My face is 
likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-tree, and in 
the theatres both of Drury-lane and the Haymarket. I have 
been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for above these 
two years ; and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly ol 
stock-jobbers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a cluster 
of people, I mix with them, though I never open my lips but in 
my own club. 

" Thus I live in the world rather as a ' Spectator' of mankind 
than as one of the sp3cies; by which means I have made myself 
a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and artizan, without 
ever meddling in any practical part in life. I am very well versed 
in the theory of a husband or a father, and can discern the errors 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 107 

having need of some habit and custom binding him 
to some few ; never doing any man a wrong (unless 
it be a wrong to hint a little doubt about a man's 
parts, and to damn him with faint praise) ; and so he 
looks on the world and plays with the ceaseless 
humours of all of us — laughs the kindest laugh — 
points our neighbour's foible or eccentricity out to 
us with the most good-natured, smiling confidence; 
and then, turning over his shoulder, whispers our 
foibles to our neighbour. What would Sir Roger 
de Coverley be without his follies and his charming 
little brain-cracks? 1 If the good knight did not 
call out to the people sleeping in church, and say 
" Amen " with such a delightful pomposity : if he 
did not make a speech in the assize-court apropos de 
bottes 9 and merely to show his dignity to Mr. Spec- 
tator : 2 if he did not mistake Madam Doll Tearsheet 



in the economy, business, and diversions of others, better than 
those who are engaged in them — as standers-by discover blots 

which are apt to escape those who are in the game In 

short, I have acted, in all the parts of my life, as a looker-on, 
which is the character I intend to preserve in this paper."— « 
Spectator, No. 1. 

1 " So effectually, indeed, did he retort on vice the mockery 
which had recently been directed against virtue, that, since his 
time, the open violation of decency has always been considered, 
amongst us, the sure mark of a fool." — Macaulat. 

2 " The Court was sat before Sir Eoger came ; but, notwith- 
standing all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, 
they made room for the old knight at the head of them ; who for 
his reputation in the country took occasion to whisper in the 



108 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

for a lady of quality in Temple Garden: if he were 
wiser than he is : if he had not his humour to salt 
his life, and were but a mere English gentleman and 
game-preserver — of what worth were he to us ? 
We love him for his vanities as much as his virtues. 
What is ridiculous is delightful in him: we are so 
fond of him because we laugh at him so. And out 
of that laughter, and out of that sweet weakness, 
and out of those harmless eccentricities and follies, 
and out of that touched brain, and out of that honest 
manhood and simplicity — we get a result of happi- 
ness, goodness, tenderness, pity, piety; such as, if 
my audience will think their reading and hearing 
over, doctors and divines but seldom have the fortune 
to inspire. And why not ? Is the glory of Heaven 
to be sung only by gentlemen in black coats ? Must 

judge's ear that he was glad his lordship had met with so much good 
weather in his circuit. I was listening to the proceedings of the 
Court with much attention, and infinitely pleased with that great 
appearance and solemnity which so properly accompanies such a 
public administration of our laws ; when, after about an hour's 
sitting, I observed to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, 
that my friend Sir Roger was getting up to speak. I was in some 
pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or three 
sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity. 

" Upon his first rising, the Court was hushed, and a general 
whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger was up. 
The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that I shall not 
trouble my readers with an account of it, and I believe was not 
so much designed by the knight himself to inform the Court, as 
to give him a figure in my eyes, and to keep up his credit in the 
country." — Spectator, No. 122. 



CONGREVE AND ADDISON. 109 

the truth be only expounded in gown and surplice, 
and out of those two vestments can nobody preach 
it? Commend me to this dear preacher without 
orders — this parson in the tye-wig. When this man 
looks from the world, whose weaknesses he describes 
so benevolently, up to the Heaven which shines over 
us -all, I can hardly fancy a human face lighted 
up with a more serene rapture: a human intellect 
thrilling with a purer love and adoration than Joseph 
Addison's. Listen to him : from your childhood you 
have known the verses : but who can hear their 
sacred music without love and awe ? 

" Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
And all the stars that round her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; 
What though no real voice nor sound, 
Among their radiant orbs be found ; 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
For ever singing as they shine, 
The hand that made us is divine." 



. 



It seems to me those verses shine like the stars. 
They shine out of a great deep calm. When he 
turns to Heaven, a Sabbath comes over that man's 
mind : and his face lights up from it with a glory of 



110 ENGLISH HUMOTJKISTS. 

thanks and prayer. His sense of religion stirs 
through his whole being. In the fields, in the town : 
looking at the birds in the trees : at the children in 
the streets: in the morning or in the moonlight: 
over his books in his own room : in a happy party 
at a country merry-making or a town assembly, 
good-will and peace to God's creatures, and love 
and awe of Him who made them, fill his pure heart 
and shine from his kind face. If Swift's life was the 
most wretched, I think Addison's was one of the 
most enviable. A life prosperous and beautiful — 
a calm death— an immense fame and affection after-, 
wards for his happy and spotless name. 1 



1 " Garth sent to Addison (of whom he had a very high opinion) 
on his death-bed, to ask him whether the Christian religion was 
true." — Dr. Young (Spence's Anecdotes). 

" I have always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I 
consider as an act, the former as an habit of the mind. Mirth is 
short and transient, cheerfulness fixed and permanent. Those are 
often raised into the greatest transports of mirth who are subject 
to the greatest depression of melancholy : on the contrary, cheer- 
fulness, though it does not give the mind such an exquisite glad- 
ness, prevents us from falling into any depths of sorrow. Mirth 
is like a flash of lightning that breaks through a gloom of clouds, 
and glitters for a moment ; cheerfulness keeps up a kind of day- 
light in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity." 
«— Addison {Spectator, p. 381). 



LECTURE THE THIRD. 



STEELE. 

What do we look for in studying the history of a 
past age? Is it to learn the political transactions 
and characters of the leading public men? is it to 
make ourselves acquainted with the life and being of 
the time? If we set out with the former grave 
purpose, where is the truth, and who believes that 
he has it entire? What character of what great 
man is known to you ? You can but make guesses 
as to character more or less happy. In common life 
don't you often judge and misjudge a man's whole 
conduct, setting out from a wrong impression ? The 
tone of a voice, a word said in joke, or a trifle in 
behaviour — the cut of his hair or the tie of his 
neckcloth may disfigure him in your eyes, or poison 
your good opinion; or at the end of years of inti- 
macy it may be your closest friend says something, 
reveals something which had previously been a 
secret, which alters all your views about him, and 



112 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

shows that he has been acting on quite a different 
motive to that which you fancied you knew. And if 
it is so with those you know, how much more with 
those you don't know? Say, for example, that I 
want to understand the character of the Duke of 
Marlborough. I read Swift's history of the times 
in which he took a part ; the shrewdest of observers 
and initiated, one would think, into the politics of 
the age — he hints to me that Marlborough was a 
coward, and even of doubtful military capacity: he 
speaks of Walpole as a contemptible boor, and 
scarcely mentions, except to flout it, the great 
intrigue of the Queen's latter days, which was to 
have ended in bringing back the Pretender. Again, 
I read Marlborough's life by a copious archdeacon, 
who has the command of immense papers, of sono- 
rous language, of what is called the best informa- 
tion; and I get little or no insight into this secret 
motive which, I believe, influenced the whole of 
Marlborough's career, which caused his turnings 
and windings, his opportune fidelity and treason, 
stopped his army almost at Paris gate, and landed 
him finally on the Hanoverian side — the winning 
side ; I get, I say, no truth, or only a portion of it, 
in the narrative of either writer, and believe that 
Coxe's portrait or Swift's portrait is quite unlike the 
real Churchill. I take this as a single instance, 
prepared to be as sceptical about any other, and say 



STEELE. 113 

to the Muse of History, " O venerable daughter of 
Mnemosyne, I doubt every single statement you ever 
made since your ladyship was a Muse! For all 
your grave airs and high pretensions, you are not 
a whit more trustworthy than some of your lighter 
sisters on whom your partisans look down. You 
bid me listen to a general's oration to his soldiers : 
Nonsense ! ( He no more made it than Turpin made 
his dying speech at Newgate. You pronounce a 
panegyric of a hero : I doubt it, and say you natter 
outrageously. You utter the condemnation of a 
loose character: I doubt it, and think you are pre- 
judiced and take the side of the Dons. You offer 
me an autobiography : I doubt all autobiographies I 
ever read except those, perhaps, of Mr. Robinson 
Crusoe, Mariner, and writers of his class. These 
have no object in setting themselves right with the 
public or their own consciences ; these have no 
motive for concealment or half-truths ; these call 
for no more confidence than I can cheerfully give, 
and do not force me to tax my credulity or to fortify 
it by evidence. I take up a volume of Dr. Smollett, 
or a volume of the f Spectator,' and say the fiction 
carries a greater amount of truth in solution than 
the volume which purports to be all true. Oat of 
the fictitious book I get the expression of the life of 
the time; of the manners, of the movement, the 
dress, the pleasures, the laughter, the ridicules of 

I 



114 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

society — the old times live again, and I travel in the 
old country of England. Can the heaviest historian 
do more for me ? " 

As we read in these delightful volumes of the 
" Tatler " and (i Spectator," the past age returns, the 
England of our ancestors is revivified. The May- 
pole rises in the Strand again in London ; the 
churches are thronged with daily worshippers; the 
beaux are gathering in the coffee-houses ; the gentry 
are going to the Drawing-room; the ladies are 
thronging to the toy-shops; the chairmen are jost- 
ling in the streets; the footmen are running with 
links before the chariots, or fighting round the 
theatre doors. In the country I see the young 
Squire riding to Eton with his servants behind him, 
and Will Wimble, the friend of the family, to see 
him safe. To make that journey from the Squire's 
and back, Will is a week on horseback. The coach 
takes five days between London and Bath. The 
judges and the bar ride the circuit. If my lady 
comes to town in her post-chariot, her people carry 
pistols to fire a salute on Captain Macheath if he 
should appear, and her couriers ride ahead to pre- 
pare apartments for her at the great caravanserais 
on the road ; Boniface receives her under the creak- 
ing sign of the Bell or the Ram, and he and his 
chamberlains bow her up the great stair to the 
state-apartments, whilst her carriage rumbles into 



STEELE. 115 

the court-yard, where the Exeter Fly is housed that 
performs the journey in eight days, God willing, 
having achieved its daily flight of twenty miles, and 
landed its passengers for supper and sleep. The 
curate is taking his pipe in the kitchen, where the 
Captain's man — having hung up his master's half 
pike — is at his bacon and eggs, bragging of Ra- 
millies and Malplaquet to the town's-folk, who have 
their club in the chimney-corner. The Captain is 
ogling the chambermaid in the wooden gallery, or 
bribing her to know who is the pretty young 
mistress that has come in the coach? The pack- 
horses are in the great stable, and the drivers and 
ostlers carousing in the tap. And in Mrs. Land- 
lady's bar, over a glass of strong waters, sits a 
gentleman of military appearance, who travels with 
pistols, as all the rest of the world does, and has a 
rattling grey mare in the stables which will be 
saddled and away with its owner half an hour before 
the " Fly " sets out on its last day's flight. And 
some five miles on the road, as the Exeter Fly comes 
jingling and creaking onwards, it will suddenly be 
brought to a halt by a gentleman on a grey mare, 
with a black vizard on his face, who thrusts a long 
pistol into the coach window, and bids the company 
to hand out their purses. ... It must have been no 
small pleasure even to sit in the great kitchen in 
those days, and see the tide of humankind pass by. 

I 2 



118 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS.' 

We arrive at places now, but we travel no more. 
Addison talks jocularly of a difference of manner 
and costume being quite perceivable at Staines, 
where there passed a young fellow "with a very 
tolerable periwig," though, to be sure, his hat was 
out of fashion, and had a Ramillies cock. I would 
have liked to travel in those days (being of that 
class of travellers who are proverbially pretty easy 
coram latronibus) and have seen my friend with the 
grey mare and the black vizard. Alas ! there always 
came a day in the life of that warrior when it was 
the fashion to accompany him as he passed — without 
his black mask, and with a nosegay in his hand, 
accompanied by halberdiers and attended by the 
sheriff, — in a carriage without springs, and a clergy- 
man jolting beside him to a spot close by Cumber- 
land-gate and the Marble Arch, where a stone still 
records that here Tyburn turnpike stood. What a 
change in a century; in a few years! Within a 
few yards of that gate the fields began : the fields of 
his exploits, behind the hedges of which he lurked 
and robbed. A great and wealthy city has grown 
over those meadows. Were a man brought to die 
there now, the windows would be closed and the 
inhabitants keep their houses in sickening horror. 
A hundred years back, people crowded to see that 
last act of a highwayman's life, and make jokes on 
it. Swift laughed at him, grimly advising him to 



STEELE. 117 

provide a Holland shirt and white cap crowned with 
a crimson or black ribbon for his exit, to mount the 
cart cheerfully — shake hands with the hangman, and 
so — farewell. Gay wrote the most delightful ballads, 
and made merry over the same hero. Contrast 
these with the writings of our present humourists ! 
Compare those morals and ours — those manners and 
ours ! 

We can't tell — you would not bear to be told the 
whole truth regarding those men and manners. You 
could no more suffer in a British drawing-room, 
under the reign of Queen Victoria, a fine gentleman 
or fine lady of Queen Anne's time, or hear what 
they heard and said, than you would receive an 
ancient Briton. It is as one reads about savages, 
that one contemplates the wild ways, the barbarous 
feasts, the terrific pastimes, of the men of pleasure 
of that age. We have our fine gentlemen, and our 
"fast men;" permit me to give you an idea of one 
particularly fast nobleman of Queen Anne's days, 
whose biography has been preserved to us by the law 
reporters. 

In 1691, when Steele was a boy at school, my 
Lord Mohun was tried by his peers for the murder 
of William Mountford, comedian. In " Howell's 
State-Trials," the reader will find not only an edify- 
ing account of this exceedingly fast nobleman, but of 
the times and manners of those days. My lord's 



118 ENGLISH EUMOUBISTS. 

friend, a Captain Hill, smitten with the charms of 
the beautiful Mrs. Bracegirdle, and anxious to marry 
her at all hazards, determined to carry her off, and 
for this purpose hired a hackney-coach with six 
horses, and a half-dozen of soldiers, to aid him in 
the storm. The coach with a pair of horses (the 
four leaders being in waiting elsewhere) took its 
station opposite my Lord Craven's house in Drury- 
lane, by which door Mrs. Bracegirdle was to pass 
on her way from the theatre. As she passed in 
company of her mamma and a friend, Mr. Page, the 
Captain seized her by the hand, the soldiers hustled 
Mr. Page and attacked him sword in hand, and 
Captain Hill and his noble friend endeavoured to 
force Madam Bracegirdle into the coach. Mr. Page 
called for help : the population of Drury-lane rose : 
it was impossible to effect the capture ; and bidding 
the soldiers go about their business, and the coach 
to drive off, Hill let go of his prey sulkily, and he 
waited for other opportunities of revenge. The man 
of whom he was most jealous was Will Mountford, 
the comedian ; Will removed, he thought Mrs. Brace- 
girdle might be his : and accordingly the Captain 
and his lordship lay that night in wait for Will, and 
as he was coming out of a house in Norfolk Street, 
while Mohun engaged him in talk, Hill, in the words 
of the Attorney-General, made a pass and run him 
clean through the body. 



STEELE. 119 

Sixty-one of my lord's peers finding him not guilty 
of murder, while but fourteen found him guilty, this 
very fast nobleman was discharged : and made his 
appearance seven years after in another trial for 
murder — when he, my Lord Warwick, and three 
gentlemen of the military profession were concerned 
in the fight which ended in the death of Captain 
Coote. 

This jolly company were drinking together at 
Lockit's in Charing Cross, when angry words arose 
between Captain Coote and Captain French ; whom 
my Lord Mohun and my lord the Earl of Warwick 1 
and Holland endeavoured to pacify. My Lord 
Warwick was a dear friend of Captain Coote, lent 
him a hundred pounds to buy his commission in the 

1 The husband of the Lady Warwick, who married Addison, 
and the father of the young Earl, who was brought to his step- 
father's bed to see " how a Christian could die." He was amongst 
the wildest of the nobility of that day; and in the curious collec- 
tion of Chap-Books at the British Museum, I have seen more 
than one anecdote of the freaks of the gay Lord. He was popular 
in London, as such daring spirits have been in our time. The 
anecdotists speak very kindly of his practical jokes. Mohun was 
scarcely out of prison for his second homicide, when he went on 
Lord Macclesfield's embassy to the Elector of Hanover, when 
Queen Anne sent the garter to H. E. Highness. The chronicler 
of the expedition speaks of his lordship as an amiable young man, 
who had been in bad company, but was quite repentant and 
reformed. He and Macartney afterwards murdered the Duke of 
Hamilton between them, in which act Lord Mohun died. This 
amiable baron's name was Charles, and not Henry, as a recent 
novelist has christened him. 



120 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

Guards; once when the captain was arrested for 13£. 
by his tailor, my lord lent him five guineas, often paid 
his reckoning for him, and showed him other offices of 
friendship. On this evening the disputants, French 
and Coote, being separated whilst they were upstairs, 
unluckily stopped to drink ale again at the bar of 
Locket's. The row began afresh — Coote lunged at 
French over the bar, and at last all six called for 
chairs, and went to Leicester-fields, where they fell 
to. Their lordships engaged on the side of Captain 
Coote. My Lord of Warwick was severely wounded 
in the hand, Mr. French also was stabbed, but honest 
Captain Coote got a couple of wounds — one espe- 
cially, ee a wound in the left side just under the short 
ribs, and piercing through the diaphragma," which 
did for Captain Coote. Hence the trials of my Lords 
Warwick and Mohun: hence the assemblage of 
peers, the report of the transaction, in which these 
defunct fast men still live for the observation of the 
curious. My Lord of Warwick is brought to the bar 
by the Deputy Governor of the Tower of London, 
having the axe carried before him by the gentleman 
gaoler, who stood with it at the bar at the right hand of 
the prisoner, turning the edge from him ; the prisoner, 
at his approach, making three bows, one to his Grace 
the Lord High- Steward, the other to the peers on 
each hand ; and his Grace and the peers return the 
salute. And besides these great personages, august 



STEELE. 121 

in periwigs, and nodding to the right and left, a 
host of the small come up out of the past and pass 
before us — the jolly captains brawling in the tavern, 
and laughing and cursing oyer their cups — the 
drawer that serves, the bar-girl that waits, the bailiff 
on the prowl, the chairman trudging through the 
black lampless streets, and smoking their pipes by 
the railings, whilst swords are clashing in the garden 
within. "Help there! a gentleman is hurt:" the 
chairmen put up their pipes, and help the gentleman 
over the railings, and carry him, ghastly and bleeding, 
to the Bagnio in Long Acre, where they knock up 
the surgon — a pretty tall gentleman — but that wound 
under the short ribs has done for him. Surgeon, 
lords, captains, bailiffs, chairmen, and gentleman 
gaoler with your axe, where be you now ? The 
gentleman axeman's head is off his own shoulders ; 
the lords and judges can wag theirs no longer ; the 
bailiff's writs have ceased to run ; the honest chair- 
men's pipes are put out, and with their brawny 
calves they have walked away into Hades — all as 
irrecoverably done for as Will Mountford or Captain 
Coote. The subject of our night's lecture saw all 
these people — rode in Captain Coote's company of 
the Guards very probably — wrote and sighed for 
Bracegirdle, went home tipsy in many a chair, after 
many a bottle, in many a tavern — fled from many a 
bailiff. 



122 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

In 1709, when the publication of the "Tatler" 
began, our great-great-grandfathers must have seized 
upon that new and delightful paper with much such 
eagerness as lovers of light literature in a later day 
exhibited when the Waverley novels appeared, upon 
which the public rushed, forsaking that feeble enter- 
tainment of which the Miss Porters, the Anne of 
Swanseas, and worthy Mrs. Badcliffe herself, with 
her dreary castles and exploded old ghosts, had had 
pretty much the monopoly. I have looked over 
many of the comic books with which our ancestors 
amused themselves, from the novels of Swift's coad- 
jutrix, Mrs. Manley, the delectable author of the 
" New Atlantis," to the facetious productions of Tom 
Durfey, and Torn Brown, and Ned Ward, writer of 
the " London Spy " and several other volumes of 
ribaldry. The slang of the taverns and ordinaries, 
the wit of the Bagnios, form the strongest part of the 
farrago of which these libels are composed. In the 
excellent newspaper collection at the British Museum, 
you may see besides the " Craftsmen" and " Postbo}^" 
specimens, and queer specimens they are, of the 
higher literature of Queen Anne's time. Here is 
an abstract from a notable journal bearing date, 
Wednesday, October, 13th, 1703, and entitled "The 
British Apollo ; or, curious amusements for the 
ingenious, by a society of gentlemen." The British 
Apollo invited and professed to answer questions 



STEELE. 123 

upon all subjects of wit, morality, science, and even 
religion ; and two out of its four pages are filled with 
queries and replies much like some of the oracular 
penny-prints of the present time. 

One of the first querists, referring to the passage 
that a bishop should be the husband of one wife, 
argues that polygamy is justifiable in the laity. 
The society of gentlemen conducting the " British 
Apollo" are posed by this casuist, and promise to 
give him an answer. Celinda then wishes to know 
from " the gentlemen," concerning the souls of the 
dead, whether they shall have the satisfaction to 
know those whom they most valued in this transitory 
life. The gentlemen of the Apollo give but cold 
comfort to poor Celinda. They are inclined to think 
not: for, say they, since every inhabitant of those 
regions will be infinitely dearer than here are our 
nearest relatives — what have we to do with a partial 
friendship in that happy place ? Poor Celinda ! it 
may have been a child or a lover whom she had lost, 
and was pining after, when the oracle of " British 
Apollo" gave her this dismal answer. She has solved 
the question for herself by this time, and knows quite 
as well as the society of gentlemen. 

From theology we come to physics, and Q. asks, 
"Why does hot water freeze sooner than cold?" 
Apollo replies, " Hot water cannot be said to freeze 
sooner than cold, but water once heated and cold, 



124 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

may be subject to freeze by the evaporation of the 
spirituous parts of the water, which renders it less 
able to withstand the power of frosty weather." 

The next query is rather a delicate one. " You, 
Mr. Apollo, who are said to be the God of wisdom, 
pray give us the reason why kissing is so much in 
fashion : what benefit one receives by it, and who 
was the inventor, and you will oblige Corinna." 
To this queer demand the lips of Phoebus, smiling, 
answer : " Pretty innocent Corinna ! Apollo owns 
that he was a little surprised by your kissing question, 
particularly at that part of it where you desire to 
know the benefit you receive by it. 'Ah! madam, 
had you a lover, you would not come to Apollo for 
a solution; since there is no dispute but the kisses 
of mutual lovers give infinite satisfaction. As to its 
invention, 'tis certain nature was its author, and it 
began with the first courtship." 

After a column more of questions, follows nearly 
two pages of poems, signed by Philander, Armenia, 
and the like, and chiefly on the tender passion ; and 
the paper wound up with a letter from Leghorn, 
an account of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince 
Eugene before Lille, and proposals for publishing two 
sheets on the present state of ^Ethiopia, by Mr. Hill ; 
all of which is printed for the authors by J. Mayo, 
at the Printing Press against Water Lane in Fleet 
Street. What a change it must have been — how 



STEELE, 125 

Apollo's oracles must have been struck dumb, 
when the "Tatler" appeared, and scholars, gentle- 
men, men of the world, men of genius, began to 
speak ! 

Shortly before the Boyne was fought, and young 
Swift had begun to make acquaintance with English 
court manners and English servitude, in Sir William 
Temple's family, another Irish youth was brought to 
learn his humanities at the old school of Charter- 
house, near Smithfield ; to which foundation he had 
been appointed by James Duke of Ormond, a governor 
of the House, and a patron of the lad's family. 
The boy was an orphan, and described, twenty years 
after, with a sweet pathos and simplicity, some of 
the earliest recollections of a life which was destined 
to be chequered by a strange variety of good and 
evil fortune. 

I am afraid no good report could be given by his 
masters and ushers of that thick-set, square-faced, 
black-eyed, soft-hearted little Irish boy. He was 
very idle. He was whipped deservedly a great 
number of times. Though he had very good parts 
of his own, he got other boys to do his lessons for 
him, and only took just as much trouble as should 
enable him to scuffle through his exercises, and by 
good fortune escape the flogging block. One hundred 
and fifty years after, I have myself inspected, but 
only as an amateur, that instrument of righteous 



126 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

torture still existing, and in occasional use, in a 
secluded private apartment of the old Charterhouse 
School; and have no doubt it is the very counterpart, 
if not the ancient and interesting machine itself, at 
which poor Dick Steele submitted himself to the 
tormentors. 

Besides being very kind, lazy, and good-natured, 
this boy went invariably into debt with the tart- 
woman; ran out of bounds, and entered into pecu- 
niary, or rather promissory, engagements with the 
neighbouring lollipop-vendors and piemen — exhibited 
an early fondness and capacity for drinking mum 
and sack, and borrowed from all his comrades who 
had money to lend. I have no sort of authority for 
the statements here made of Steele's early life ; but 
if the child is father of the man, the father of young 
Steele of Merton, who left Oxford without taking a 
degree, and entered the Life Guards — the father of 
Captain Steele of Lucas's Fusiliers, who got his 
company through the patronage of my Lord Cutts 
— the father of Mr. Steele the Commissioner of 
Stamps, the editor of the " Gazette," the " Tatler," 
and u Spectator," the expelled member of parlia- 
ment, and the author of the " Tender Husband " and 
the " Conscious Lovers ; " if man and boy resembled 
each other, Dick Steele the schoolboy must have 
been one of the most generous, good-for-nothing, 
amiable little creatures that ever conjugated the verb 



STEELE. 127 

iupto, I beat, tuptomai, I am whipped, in any school 
in Great Britain. 

Almost every gentleman who does me the honour 
to hear me will remember that the very greatest 
character which he has seen in the course of his life, 
and the person to whom he has looked up with the 
greatest wonder and reverence, was the head boy at 
his school. The schoolmaster himself hardly inspires 
such an awe. The head boy construes as well as the 
schoolmaster himself. When he begins to speak the 
hall is hushed, and every little boy listens. He 
writes off copies of Latin verses as melodiously as 
Yirgil. He is good-natured, and, his own master- 
pieces achieved, pours out other copies of verses for 
other boys with an astonishing ease and fluency ; the 
idle ones only trembling lest they should be dis- 
covered on giving in their exercises, and whipped 
because their poems were too good. I have seen 
great men in my time, but never such a great one 
as that head-boy of my childhood: we all thought 
he must be Prime Minister, and I was disappointed 
on meeting him in after life to find he was no more 
than six feet high. 

Dick Steele, the Charterhouse gownboy, con- 
tracted such an admiration in the years of his 
childhood, and retained it faithfully through his 
life. Through the school and through the world, 
whithersoever his strange fortune led this erring, 



128 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

wayward, affectionate creature, Joseph Addison was 
always his head-boy. Addison wrote his exercises. 
Addison did his best themes. He ran on Addison's 
messages : fagged for him and blacked his shoes : to 
be in Joe's company was Dick's greatest pleasure; 
and he took a sermon or a caning from his monitor 
with the most boundless reverence, acquiescence, and 
affection. 1 

Steele found Addison a stately college Don at 
Oxford, and himself did not make much figure at 
this place. He wrote a comedy, which, by the 
advice of a friend, the humble fellow burned there ; 
and some verses, which I dare say are as sublime as 
other gentlemen's composition at that age; but 
being smitten with a sudden love for military glory, 
he threw up the cap and gown for the saddle and 
bridle, and rode privately in the Horse Guards, 
in the Duke of Ormond's troop — the second — and, 
probably, with the rest of the gentlemen of his troop, 
" all mounted on black horses with white feathers in 
their hats, and scarlet coats richly laced," marched 
by King "William, in Hyde Park, in November, 1699, 

1 " Steele had the greatest veneration for Addison, and used to 
show it, in all companies, in a particular manner. Addison, now 
and then, used to play a little upon them ; but he always took it 
well." — Pope (Spence's Anecdotes'). 

" Sir Richard Steele was the best-natured creature in the world: 
even in his worst state of health, he seemed to desire nothing but 
to please and be pleased." — Dr. Young (Spence's Anecdotes'). 



STEELE. 129 

and a great show of the nobility, besides twenty 
thousand people, and above a thousand coaches. 
" The Guards had just got their new clothes," the 
" London Post " said : " they are extraordinary grand, 
and thought to be the finest body of horse in the 
world." But Steele could hardly have seen any 
actual service. He who wrote about himself, his 
mother, his wife, his loves, his debts, his friends, 
and the wine he drank, would have told us of his 
battles if he had seen any. His old patron, 
Ormond, probably got him his cornetcy in the 
Guards, from which he was promoted to be a captain 
in Lucas's Fusiliers, getting his company through 
the patronage of Lord Cutts, whose secretary he 
was, and to whom he dedicated his work called the 
" Christian Hero." As for Dick, whilst writing this 
ardent devotional work, he was deep in debt, in 
drink, and in all the follies of the town; it is 
related that all the officers of Lucas's, and the 
gentlemen of the Guards, laughed at Dick. 1 And 
in truth a theologian in liquor is not a respectable 
object, and a hermit, though he may be c>ut at 
elbows must not be in debt to the tailor. ( Steele 
says of himself that he was always sinning and 

1 The gaiety of his dramatic tone may be seen in this little 
scene between two brilliant sisters, from his comedy, The Funeral, 
or Grief a. la Mode. Dick wrote this, he said, from " a necessity 
of enlivening his character," -which, it seemed, the " Christian 



130 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

repenting.; He beat his breast and cried most 
piteously when he did repent: but as soon as 
crying had made him thirsty, he fell to sinning 



Hero " had a tendency to make too decorous, grave, and respect- 
able in the eyes of readers of that pious piece. 

[" Scene draws, and discovers Lady Charlotte, reading at a 
table, — Lady Harriet, playing at a glass, to and fro, and 
viewing herself.'] 

" L. Ha. — Nay, good sister, you may as well talk to me [looking 
at herself as she speaks] as sit staring at a hook which I know 
you can't attend. — Good Dr. Lucas may have writ there what he 
pleases, hut there 's no putting Francis, Lord Hardy, now Earl of 
Brumpton, out of your head, or making him absent from your 
eyes. Do but look on me, now, and deny it if you can. 

" JL. Ch. — You are the maddest girl [smiling], 

" L. Ha. — Look ye, I knew you could not say it and forbear 
laughing [looking over Charlotte]. — Oh! I see his name as plain 
as you do — F — r — a — n, Fran, — c — i — s, cis, Francis, 'tis in every 
line of the book. 

" L. Ch. [Rising] — It ; « in vain, I see, to mind anything in 
such impertinent company — but granting 'twere as you say, as 
to my Lord Hardy — 'tis more excusable to admire another than 
oneself. 

" L. Ha. — No, I think not, — yes, I grant you, than really to be 
vain of one 's person, but I don't admire myself — Pish I I don't 
believe my eyes to have that softness. [Looking in the glass.] 
They an't so piercing : no, 'tis only stuff, the men will be talking. 
— Some people are such admirers of teeth — Lord, what signifies 
teeth! [Showing her teeth.] A very black-a-moor has as white 
a set of teeth as I. — No, sister, I don't admire myself, but I 've a 
spirit of contradiction in me: I don't know I'm in love with 
myself, only to rival the men. 

" L. Ch. — Ay, but Mr. Campley will gain ground ev'n of that 
rival of his, your dear self. 

"Z. Ha. — Oh, what have I done to you, that you should name 
that insolent intruder? A confident, opinionative fop. No, 



STEELE. 131 

again. In that charming paper in the " Tatler," 
in which he records his father's death, his mother's 
griefs, his own most solemn and tender emotions, he 
says he is interrupted by the arrival of a hamper 
of wine, " the same as is to be sold at Garraway's, 

indeed, if I am, as a poetical lover of mine sighed and sung of 
both sexes, 

The public envy and the public care, 

I shan't be so easily catched — I thank him — I want but to be 
sure, I should heartily torment him by banishing him, and then 
consider whether he should depart this life or not. 

" L. Ch. — Indeed, sister, to be serious with you, this vanity in 
your humour does not at all become you. 

" L. Ha. — Vanity ! All the matter is, we gay people are more 
sincere than you wise folks : all your life 's an art. — Speak you 
real. — Look you there. — [Hauling her to the glass.'] Are you not 
struck with a secret pleasure when you view that bloom in your 
look, that harmony in your shape, that promptitude in your 
mien? 

" L. Ch. — Well, simpleton, if I am at first so simple as to be a 
little taken with myself, I know it a fault, and take pains to 
correct it. 

" L. Ha. — Phsaw ! Phsaw ! Talk this musty tale to old Mrs. 
Fardingale, 'tis tiresome for me to think at that rate. 

" L. Ch. — They that think it too soon to understand themselves 
will very soon find it too late. — But tell me honestly, don't you 
like Campley ? 

" L. Ha. — The fellow is not to be abhorred, if the forward 
thing did not think of getting me so easily. — Oh, I hate a heart 
I can't break when I please. — What makes the value of dear 
china, but that 'tis so brittle ? — were it not for that, you might as 
well have stone mugs in your closet." — The Funeral, Oct. 2nd. 

"We knew the obligations the stage had to his writings 
[Steele's] ; there being scarcely a comedian of merit in our 
whole company whom his " Tatlers " had not made better by 
his recommendation of them." — Cibber. 



132 ENGLISH HtJMOUEISTS. 

next week," upon the receipt of which he sends for 
three friends, and they fall to instantly, "drinking 
two bottles a-piece, with great benefit to themselves, 
and not separating till two o'clock in the morning." 

His life was so. Jack the drawer was always 
interrupting it, bringing him a bottle from the 
"Rose," or inviting him over to a bout there with 
Sir Plume and Mr. Diver ; and Dick wiped his eyes, 
which were whimpering over his papers, took down 
his laced hat, put on his sword and wig, kissed his 
wife and children, told them a lie about pressing 
business, and went off to the " Rose " to the jolly 
fellows. 

While Mr. Addison was abroad, and after he 
came home in rather a dismal way to wait upon 
Providence in his shabby lodging in the Haymarket, 
young Captain Steele was cutting a much smarter 
figure than that of his classical friend of Charter- 
house Cloister and Maudlin Walk. Could not some 
painter give an interview between the gallant captain 
of Lucas's, with his hat cocked, and his lace, and his 
face too, a trifle tarnished with drink, and that poet, 
that philosopher, pale, proud, and poor, his friend 
and monitor of school days, of all days? How 
Dick must have bracked about his chances and his 

CO 

hopes, and the fine company he kept, and the charms 
of the reigning toasts and popular actresses, and the 
number of bottles that he and my lord and some 



STEELE. 133 

other pretty fellows had cracked over night at the 
" Devil," or the " Garter ! " Cannot one fancy 
Joseph Addison's calm smile and cold grey eyes 
following Dick for an instant, as he struts down 
the Mall, to dine with the Guard at St. James's, 
before he turns, with his sober pace and thread-bare 
suit, to walk back to his lodgings up the two pair 
of stairs? Steele's name was down for promotion, 
Dick always said himself, in the glorious, pious, 
and immortal William's last table-book. Jonathan 
Swift's name had been written there by the same 
hand too. 

Our worthy friend, the author of the " Christian 
Hero," continued to make no small figure about 
town by the use of his wits. 1 He was appointed 
Gazetteer: he wrote, in 1703, "The Tender 
Husband," his second play, in which 'there is some 
delightful farcical writing, and of which he fondly 
owned in after-life, and when Addison was no more, 
that there were " many applauded strokes " from 
Addison's beloved hand. 2 Is it not a pleasant 

1 " There is not now in his sight that excellent man, whom 
Heaven made his friend and superior, to be at a certain place in 
pain for what he should say or do. I will go on in his further 
encouragement. The best woman that ever man had cannot now 
lament and pine at his neglect of himself." — Steele [of himself]. 
The Theatre. No. 12, Feb., 1719-20. 

2 "The Funeral" supplies an admirable stroke of humour, — 
one which Sydney Smith has used as an illustration of the faculty 
in his Lectures. 



134 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

partnership to remember? Can't one fancy Steele 
full of spirits and youth, leaving his gay company 
to go to Addison's lodging, where his friend sits in 
the shabby sitting-room, quite serene, and cheerful, 
and poor? In 1704, Steele came on the town with 
another comedy, and behold it was so moral and 
religious, as poor Dick insisted, so dull the town 
thought, that the "Lying Lover" was damned. 

Addison's hour of success now came, and he was 
able to help our friend, the " Christian Hero," in 
such a way, that, if there had been any chance of 
keeping that poor tipsy champion upon his legs, 
his fortune was safe, and his competence assured. 
Steele procured the place of Commissioner of 
Stamps: he wrote so richly, so gracefully often, 
so kindly always, with such a pleasant wit and 
easy frankness, with such a gush of good spirits 
and good humour, that his early papers may be 
compared to Addison's own, and are to be read, 

The undertaker is talking to his employes about their duty. 

Sable. — " Ha, you ! — A little more upon the dismal [forming 
their countenances'] ; this fellow has a good mortal look, — place 
him near the corpse : that wainscot-face must be o' top of the 
stairs ; that fellow 's almost in a fright (that looks as if he were 
full of some strange misery) at the end of the hall. So — But I '11 
fix you all myself. Let 's have no laughing now on any provoca- 
tion. Look yonder, — that hale, well-looking puppy ! You un- 
grateful scoundrel, did not I pity you, take you out of a great 
man's service, and show you the pleasure of receiving wages ? 
Did not I give you ten, then fifteen, and twenty shillings a week to be 
sorrowful? — and the more I give you I think the gladder you are!" 



STEELE. 135 

by a male reader at least, with quite an equal 
pleasure. 1 

1 "From my own Apartment, Nov. 16. 

" There are several persons who have many pleasures and 
entertainments in their possession, which they do not enjoy; it 
is, therefore, a kind and good office to acquaint them with their 
own happiness, and turn their attention to such instances of their 
good fortune as they are apt to overlook. Persons in the married 
state often want such a monitor ; and pine away their days by 
looking upon the same condition in anguish and murmuring, 
which carries with it, in the opinion of others, a complication of 
all the pleasures of life, and a retreat from its inquietudes. 

" I am led into this thought by a visit I made \$> an old friend 
who was formerly my schoolfellow. He came to town last week, 
with his famity, for the winter ; and yesterday morning sent me 
word his wife expected me to dinner. I am, as it were, at home 
at that house, and every member of it knows me for their well- 
wisher. I cannot, indeed, express the pleasure it is to be met by 
the children with so much joy as I am when I go thither. The 
boys and girls strive who shall come first, when they think it is I 
that am knocking at the door; and that child which loses the 
race to me runs back again to tell the father it is Mr. Bickerstaff. 
This day I was led in by a pretty girl that we all thought must 
have forgot me ; for the family has been out of town these two 
years. Her knowing me again was a mighty subject with us, and 
took up our discourse at the first entrance; after which, thej 
began to rally me upon a thousand little stories they heard in the 
country, about my marriage to one of my neighbours' daughters ; 
upon which, the gentleman, my friend, said, 'Nay; if Mr. 
Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old companions, I 
hope mine shall have the preference : there is Mrs. Mary is now 
sixteen, and would make him as fine a widow as the best of them. 
But I know him too well ; he is so enamoured with the very 
memory of those who flourished in our youth, that he will not so 
much as look upon the modern beauties. I remember, old gentle- 
man, how often you went home in a day to refresh your counte- 
nance and dress when Teraminta reigned in your heart. As w& 
came up in the coach, I repeated to my wife some of your verses 



136 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

After the "Tatler," in 1711, the famous " Spec- 
tator " made its appearance, and this "was followed, at 



on her.' With such reflections on little passages which happened 
long ago, we passed our time during a cheerful and elegant meal. 
After dinner his lady left the room, as did also the children. As 
soon as we were alone, he took me by the hand: 'Well, my good 
friend,' says he, ' I am heartily glad to see thee ; I was afraid you 
would never have seen all the company that dined with you to- 
day again. Do not you think the good woman of the house a 
little altered since you followed her from the playhouse to find 
out who she was for me ? ' I perceived a tear fall down Ms cheek 
as he spoke, which moved me not a little. But, to turn the 
discourse, I said, ' She is not, indeed, that creature she was when 
she returned me the letter I carried from you, and told me, ' She 
hoped, as I was a gentleman, I would be employed no more to 
trouble her, who had never offended me ; but would be so much 
the gentleman's friend as to dissuade him from a pursuit which 
he could never succeed in.' You may remember I thought her in 
earnest, and you were forced to employ your cousin Will, who 
made his sister get acquainted with her for you. You cannot 
expect her to be for ever fifteen.' ' Fifteen ! ' replied my good 
friend. 'Ah! you little understand — you, that have lived a 
bachelor — how great, how exquisite a pleasure there is in being 
really beloved ! It is impossible that the most beauteous face in 
nature should raise in me such pleasing ideas as when I look upon 
that excellent woman. That fading in her countenance is chiefly 
caused by her watching with me in my fever. This was followed 
by a fit of sickness, which had like to have carried me off last 
winter. I tell you, sincerely, I have so many obligations to her 
that I cannot, with any sort of moderation, think of her present 
state of health. But, as to what you say of fifteen, she gives me 
every day pleasure beyond what I ever knew in the possession of 
her beauty when I was in the vigour of youth. Every moment 
of her life brings me fresh instances of her complacency to my 
inclinations, and her prudence in regard to my fortune. Her face 
is to me much more beautiful than when I first saw it ; there is 
no decay in any feature which I cannot trace from the very 
instant it was occasioned by some anxious concern for my welfare 



STEELE. 137 

various intervals, by many periodicals under the 
same editor — the "Guardian" — the "Englishman" 



and interests. Thus, at the same time, methinks, the loye I 
conceived towards her for what she was, is heightened by my 
gratitude for w r hat she is. The love of a wife is as much ahove 
the idle passion commonly called by that name, as the loud 
laughter of buffoons is inferior to the elegant mirth of gentlemen. 
Oh ! she is an inestimable jewel ! In her examination of her 
household affairs, she shows a certain fearfulness to find a fault, 
which makes her servants obey her like children ; and the meanest 
we have has an ingenuous shame for an offence not always 
to be seen in children in other families. I speak freely to you, 
my old friend ; ever since her sickness, things that gave me the 
quickest joy before turn now to a certain anxiety. As the children 
play in the next room, I know the poor things by their steps, and 
am considering what they must do should they lose their mother 
in their tender years. The pleasure I used to take in telling my 
boy stories of battles, and asking my girl questions about the 
disposal of her baby, and the gossipping of it, is turned into 
inward reflection and melancholy.' 

" He would have gone on in this tender way, when the good 
lady entered, and, with an inexpressible sweetness in her counte- 
nance, told us ' she had been searching her closet for something 
very good, to treat such an old friend as I was.' Her husband's 
eyes sparkled with pleasure at the cheerfulness of her counte- 
nance ; and I saw all his fears vanish in an instant. The lady 
observing something in our looks which showed we had been 
more serious than ordinary, and seeing her husband receive her 
with great concern under a forced cheerfulness, immediately 
guessed at what we had been talking of; and applying herself to 
me, said, with a smile, ' Mr. Bickerstaff, do not believe a word of 
what he tells you ; I shall still live to have you for my second, as 
I have often promised you, unless he takes more care of himself 
than he has done since his coming to town. You must know he 
tells me, that he finds London is a much more healthy place than 
the country ; for he sees several of his old acquaintances and 
schoolfellows are here — young fellows ivith fair, full-bottomed peri- 
wigs, I could scarce keep him this morning from going out open.' 



138 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

■ — the " Lover," whose love was rather insipid — the 
" Reader," of whom the public saw no more after 



breasted.' My friend, who is always extremely delighted with her 
agreeable humour, made her sit down with us. She did it with 
that easiness which is peculiar to women of sense ; and to keep 
up the good humour she had brought in with her, turned her 
raillery upon me. ' Mr. BickerstafF, you remember you followed 
me one night from the playhouse ; suppose you should carry me 
thither to-morrow night, and lead me in the front box.' This 
put us into a long field of discourse about the beauties who were 
the mothers to the present, and shined in the boxes twenty years 
ago. I told her, ' I was glad she had transferred so many of her 
charms, and I did not question but her eldest daughter was within 
half-a-year of being a toast.' 

"We were pleasing ourselves with this fantastical preferment of 
the young lady, when, on a sudden, we were alarmed with the 
noise of a drum, and immediately entered my little godson to give 
me a point of war. His mother, between laughing and chiding, 
would have put him out of the room ; but I would not part with 
him so. I found, upon conversation with him, though he was a 
little noisy in his mirth, that the child had excellent parts, and 
was a great master of all the learning on the other side of eight 
years old. I perceived him a very great historian in 'iEsop's 
Eables ; ' but he frankly declared to me his mind, 'that he did 
not delight in that learning, because he did not believe they were 
true ; ' for which reason I found he had very much turned his 
studies, for about a twelvemonth past, into the lives of Don 
Bellianis of Greece, Guy of Warwick, 'the Seven Champions,' 
and other historians of that age. I could not but observe the 
satisfaction the father took in the forwardness of his son, and 
that these diversions might turn to some profit. I found the boy 
had made remarks which might be of service to him during the 
course of his whole life. He would tell you the mismanagement 
of John Hickerthrift, find fault with the passionate temper in 
Bevis of Southampton, and loved St. George for being the 
champion of England ; and by this means had his thoughts 
insensibly moulded into the notions of discretion, virtue, and 
honour. I was extolling his accomplishments, when his mother 



STEELE. 139 

his second appearance — the "Theatre/' under the 
pseudonym of Sir John Edgar, which Steele wrote, 
while Governor of the Royal Company of Come- 
dians, to which post, and to that of Surveyor of 
the Royal Stables at Hampton Court, and to the 
Commission of the Peace for Middlesex, and to the 
honour of knighthood, Steele had been preferred 
soon after the accession of George I., whose cause 
honest Dick had nobly fought, through disgrace 
and danger, against the most formidable enemies, 
against traitors and bullies, against Bolingbroke 
and Swift in the last reign. With the arrival of 
the King, that splendid conspiracy broke up ; and a 
golden opportunity came to Dick Steele, whose hand, 
alas, was too careless to gripe it. 

Steele married twice ; and outlived his places, his 



told me, ' that the little girl who led me in this morning was, in 
her way, a better scholar than he. Betty,' said she, 'deals 
chiefly in fairies and sprights ; and sometimes in a winter night 
will terrify the maids with her accounts, until they are afraid to 
go up to bed.' 

" I sat with them until it was very late, sometimes in merry, 
sometimes in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure, 
which gives the only true relish to all conversation, a sense that 
every one of us liked each other. I went home, considering the 
different conditions of a married life and that of a bachelor ; and 
I must confess it struck me with a secret concern, to reflect, that 
whenever I go off I shall leave no traces behind me. In this 
pensive mood I return to my family ; that is to say, to my maid, 
my dog, my cat, who only can be the belter or worse for what 
happens to me." — The Taller, 



140 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

schemes, his wife, his income, his health, and almost 
everything but his kind heart. That ceased to trouble 
him in 1729, when he died, worn out and almost 
forgotten by his contemporaries in Wales, where he 
had the remnant of a property. 

Posterity has been kinder to this amiable creature ; 
all women especially are bound to be grateful to 
Steele, as he was the first of our writers who really 
seemed to admire and respect them. Congreve the 
Great, who alludes to the low estimation in which 
women were held in Elizabeth's time, as a reason 
why the women of Shakspeare make so small a 
figure in the poet's dialogues, though he can himself 
pay splendid compliments to women, yet looks on 
them as mere instruments of gallantry, and destined, 
like the most consummate fortifications, to fall, after 
a certain time, before the arts and bravery of the 
besieger, man. There is a letter of Swift's, entitled 
" Advice to a very Young Married Lady," which 
shows the Dean's opinion of the female society of his 
day, and that if he despised man he utterly scorned 
women too. No lady of our time could be treated 
by any man, were he ever so much a wit or Dean, 
in such a tone of insolent patronage and vulgar 
protection. In this performance, Swift hardly takes 
pains to hide his opinion that a woman is a fool : tells 
her to read books, as if reading was a novel accom- 
plishment ; and informs her that (i not one gentle ■ 



STEELE. 141 

man's daughter in a thousand has been brought to 
read or understand her own natural tongue." Addison 
laughs at women equally; but, with the gentleness 
and politeness of his nature, smiles at them and 
watches them, as if they w^ere harmless, half-witted, 
amusing, pretty creatures, only made to be men's 
playthings. It was Steele who first began to pay a 
manly homage to their goodness and understanding, 
as well as to their tenderness and beauty. 1 In his 
comedies, the heroes do not rant and rave about 
the divine beauties of Gloriana or Statira, as the 
characters were made to do in the chivalry romances 
and the high-flown dramas just going out of vogue, 
but Steele admires women's virtue, acknowledges 
their sense, and adores their purity and beauty, with 
an ardour and strength which should win the good 
will of all women to their hearty and respectful 
champion. It is this ardour, this respect, this man- 

1 " As to the pursuits after affection and esteem, the fair sex 
are happy in this particular, that with them the one is much more 
nearly related to the other than in men. The love of a woman 
is inseparable from some esteem of her; and as she is naturally the 
object of affection, the woman who has your esteem has also some 
degree of your love. A man that dotes on a woman for her 
beauty, will whisper his friend, ' that creature has a great deal 
of wit when you are well acquainted with her.' And if you 
examine the bottom of your esteem for a woman, you will find 
you have a greater opinion of her beauty than anybody else. As 
to us men, I design to pass most of my time with the facetious 
Harry Bickerstaff; but William Bickerstaff^ the most prudent 
man of our family, shall be my executor." — Tatler, No. 206. 



142 ENGLISH HUM0UEIST3. 

liness, which makes his comedies so pleasant and 
their heroes such fine gentlemen. He paid the finest 
compliment to a woman that perhaps ever was offered. 
Of one woman, whom Congreve had also admired 
and celebrated, Steele says, that " to have loved her 
was a liberal education." " How often," he says, 
dedicating a volume to his wife, "how often has 
your tenderness removed pain from my sick head, 
how often anguish from my afflicted heart ! If there 
are such beings as guardian angels, they are thus 
employed. I cannot believe one of them to be more 
good in inclination, or more charming in form than 
my wife." His breast seems to warm and his eyes 
to kindle when he meets with a good and beautiful 
woman, and it is with his heart as well as with his 
hat that he salutes her. About children, and all 
that relates to home, he is hot less tender, and more 
than once speaks in apology of what he calls his 
softness. ' He would have been nothing without that 
delightful weakness. It is that which gives his works 
their worth and his style its charm. It, like his life, 
is full of faults and careless blunders ; and redeemed, 
like that, by his sweet and compassionate nature. 

We possess of poor Steele's wild and chequered 
life some of the most curious memoranda that ever 
were left of a man's biography. 1 Most men's letters, 

1 The Correspondence of Steele passed after his death into the 
possession of his daughter Elizabeth, by his second wife, Miss 



STEELE. 143 

from Cicero down to Walpole, or down to the great 
men of oar own time, if you will, are doctored 

Scurlock, of Carmarthenshire. She married the Hon. John, after- 
wards third Lord Trevor. At her death, part of the letters passed 
to Mr. Thomas, a grandson of a natural daughter of Steele's ; and 
part to Lady Trevor's next of kin, Mr. Scurlock. They were 
published by the learned Nichols — from whose later edition of 
them, in 1809, our specimens are quoted. 

Here we have him, in his courtship — which was not a very long 
one. 

"Aug. 30, 1707. 
to mrs. scurlock. 

" Madam, — 

" I beg pardon that my paper is not finer, but I am forced 
to write from a coffee-house, where I am attending about business. 
There is a dirty crowd of busy faces all around me, talking of 
money ; while all my ambition, all my wealth, is love ! Love 
which animates my heart, sweetens my humour, enlarges my 
soul, and affects every action of my life. It is to my lovely 
charmer I owe, that many noble ideas are continually affixed to 
my words and actions ; it is the natural effect of that generous 
passion to create in the admirer some similitude of the object 
admired. Thus, my dear, am I every day to improve from so 
sweet a companion. Look up, my fair one, to that Heaven which 
made thee such ; and join with me to implore its influence on our 
tender innocent hours, and beseech the author of love to bless 
the rites he has ordained — and mingle with our happiness a just 
sense of our transient condition, and a resignation to His will, 
which only can regulate our minds to a steady endeavour to please 
Him and each other. 

" I am for ever your faithful servant, 

"Kich. Steele." 

Some few hours afterwards, apparently, Mistress Scurlock re- 
ceived the next one — obviously written later in the day ! 

" Saturday night (Aug. 30, 1707.) 
" Dear, Lovely, Mrs. Scurlock, — 

ft I have been in very good company, where your health, 
under the character of the woman I loved best, has been oftea 



144 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

compositions, and written with an eye suspicious 
towards posterity. That dedication of Steele's to 



drunk; so that I may say that I am dead drunk for your sake, 
which is more than I die for you. 

"Kich. Steele." 

TO MRS. SCUELOCK. 

"Sept. 1, 1707. 

te Madam,— 

"It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love, and yet 
attend business. As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and 
I must lock myself up, or other people will do it for me. 

" A gentleman asked me this morning, ' what news from Lisbon?' 
and I answered ' she is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired 
to know ' when I had last been at Hampton Court ? ' I replied, 
'ifc will be on Tuesday come se'nnight.' Pry'thee allow me at 
least to kiss your hand before that day, that my mind may be in 
some composure. Oh Love ! 

" ' A thousand torments dwell about thee, 
Yet who could live, to live without thee ? ' 

"Methinks I could write a volume to you; but all the language 
on earth would fail in saying how much, and with what disin- 
terested passion, " I am ever yours, 

"Kich. Steele." 

Two days after this, he is found expounding his circumstances 
and prospects to the young lady's mamma. He dates from " Lord 
Sunderland's office, Whitehall ; " and states his clear income at 
1025/. per annum. "I promise myself," says he, "the pleasure 
of an industrious and virtuous life, in studying to do things 
argeeable to you." 

They were married, according to the most probable conjectures, 
about the 7th inst. There are traces of a tiff about the middle 
of the next month ; she being prudish and fidgetty, as he was 
impassioned and reckless. General progress, however, may be 
seen from the following notes. The " house in Bury-street, St. 
James's," was now taken. 



STEELE. 145 

his wife is an artificial performance, possibly; at 
least, it is written with that degree of artifice which 

TO MKS. STEELE. 

"Dearest Being on Earth, — " Oct. 16, 1707. 

" Pardon me if you do not see me till eleven o'clock, having 
met a school-fellow from India, by whom I am to be informed on 
things this night which expressly concern your obedient husband, 

"Rich. Steele." 

to mrs. steele. 

" Eight o'clock, Fountain Tavern, 
"My Dear,— Oct. 22, 1707. 

" I beg of you not to be uneasy ; for I have done a great 
deal of business to-day very successfully, and wait an hour or two 
about my ' Gazette.' " 

" My dear, dear "Wife, — "Dec. 22, 1707. 

" I write to let you know I do not come home to dinner, 
being obliged to attend some business abroad, of which I shall 
give you an account (when I see you in the evening), as becomes 
your dutiful and obedient husband." 

"Devil Tavern, Temple-bar, 
" Dear Prue,— " Jan. 3, 1707-8. 

"I have partly succeeded in my business to-day, and inclose 
two guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue, I cannot come home 
to dinner. I languish for your welfare, and will never be a 
moment careless more. 

** Your faithful husband," &c. 

"Dear Wife,— "Jan. 14, 1707-8. 

" Mr. Edgecombe, Ned Ask, and Mr. Lumley, have desired 
me to sit an hour with them at the George, in Pall-mall, for 
which I desire your patience till twelve o'clock, and that you will 
go to bed," &c. 

"Dear Prue, — " Gray's-inn, Feb. 3, 1708. 

" If the man who has my shoemaker's bill calls, let him be 
answered that I shall call on him as I come home. I stay here in 



146 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

an orator uses in arranging a statement for the 
House, or a poet employs in preparing a sentiment 
in verse or for the stage. But there are some 400 
letters of Dick Steele's to his wife, which that thrifty 
woman preserved accurately, and which could have 
been written but for her and her alone. They 
contain details of the business, pleasures, quarrels, 

order to get Jonson to discount a bill for me, and shall dine with 
him for that end. He is expected at home every minute. 

" Your most humble, obedient servant," &c. 

" Tennis-court Coffee-house, 
" Dear Wife,— May 5, 1708. 

"I hope I have done this day what will be pleasing to you; 
in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one Leg, over 
against the Devil Tavern, at Charing-cross. I shall be able to 
confront the fools who wish me uneasy, and shall have the satis- 
faction to see thee cheerful and at ease. 

" If the printer's boy be at home, send him hither ; and let 
Mrs. Todd send by the boy my night-gown, slippers, and clean 
linen. You shall hear from me early in the morning," &c. 

Dozens of similar letters follow, with occasional guineas, little 
parcels of tea, or walnuts, &c. In 1709 the "Tatler" made its 
appearance. The following curious note dates April 7th, 1710: — 

" I inclose to you [■ Dear Prue'] a receipt for the saucepan and 
spoon, and a note of 23/. of Lewis's, which will make up the 50/. 
I promised for your ensuing occasion. 

" I know no happiness in this life in any degree comparable to 
the pleasure I have in your person and society. I only beg of 
you to add to your other charms a fearfulness to see a man that 
loves you in pain and uneasiness, to make me as happy as it is 
possible to be in this life. Kising a little in a morning, and being 
disposed to a cheerfulness would not be amiss." 

In another, he is found excusing his coming home, being "invited 
to supper to Mr. Boyle's." " Dear Prue," he says on this occasion, 
" do not send after me, for I shall be ridiculous." 



STEELE. 147 

reconciliations of the pair ; they have all the genuine- 
ness of conversation ; they are as artless as a child's 
prattle, and as confidential as a curtain-lecture. 
Some are written from the printing-office, where he 
is waiting for the proof sheets of his (( Gazette," or 
his "Tatler;" some are written from the tavern, 
whence he promises to come to his wife "within a 
pint of wine," and where he has given a rendezvous 
to a friend, or a money-lender : some are composed 
in a high state of vinous excitement, when his head 
is flustered with Burgundy, and his heart abounds 
with amorous warmth for his darling Prue: some 
are under the influence of the dismal headache and 
repentance next morning: some, alas, are from the 
lock-up house, where the lawyers have impounded 
him, and where he is waiting for bail. You trace 
many years of the poor fellow's career in these letters. 
In September, 1707, from which day she began to 
save the letters, he married the beautiful Mistress 
Scurlock. You have his passionate protestations to 
the lady; his respectful proposals to her mamma; 
his private prayer to Heaven when the union so 
ardently desired was completed ; his fond professions 
of contrition and promises of amendment, when, 
immediately after his marriage, there began to be 
just cause for the one and need for the other. 

Captain Steele took a house for his lady upon 
their marriage, " the third door from Germain-street, 

L 2 



148 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

left hand of Berry-street," and the next year he 
presented his wife with a country house at Hampton. 
It appears she had a chariot and pair, and sometimes 
four horses : he himself enjoyed a little horse for his 
own riding. He paid, or promised to pay, his barber 
fifty pounds a year, and always went abroad in a 
laced coat and a large black-buckled periwig, that 
mast have cost somebody fifty guineas. He was 
rather a well-to-do gentleman, Captain Steele, with 
the proceeds of his estates in Barbadoes (left to him 
by his first wife), his income as a writer of the 
" Gazette," and his office of gentleman waiter to his 
Royal Highness Prince George. His second wife 
brought him a fortune too. But it is melancholy to 
relate, that with these houses and chariots and horses 
and income, the Captain was constantly in want of 
money, for which his beloved bride was asking as 
constantly. In the course of a few pages we begin 
to find the shoemaker calling for money, and some 
directions from the Captain, who has not thirty 
pounds to spare. He sends his wife, "the beauti- 
fullest object in the world," as he calls her, and 
evidently in reply to applications of her own, which 
have gone the way of all waste paper, and lighted 
Dick's pipes, which were smoked a hundred and 
forty years ago — he sends his wife now a guinea, 
then a half-guinea, then a couple of guineas, then 
half a pound of tea; and again no money and no 



STEELE. 149 

tea at all, but a promise that Lis darling Prue shall 
have some in a day or two : or a request, perhaps, 
that she will send over his night-gown and shaving- 
plate to the temporary lodging where the nomadic 
captain is lying, hidden from the bailiffs. Oh that a 
Christian hero and late captain in Lucas's should be 
afraid of a dirty sheriff's officer ! That the pink and 
pride of chivalry should turn pale before a writ ! It 
stands to record in poor Dick's own handwriting; 
the queer collection is preserved at the British 
Museum to this present day; that the rent of the 
nuptial house in Jermyn-street, sacred to unutterable 
tenderness and Prue, and three doors from Bury- 
street, was not paid until after the landlord had 
put in an execution on Captain Steele's furniture. 
Addison sold the house and furniture at Hampton, 
and, after deducting the sum in which his incor- 
rigible friend was indebted to him, handed over the 
residue of the proceeds of the sale to poor Dick, 
who wasn't in the least angry at Addison's summary 
proceeding, and I dare say was very glad of any 
sale or execution, the result of which was to give 
him a little ready money. Having a small house 
in Jermyn-street for which he couldn't pay, and 
a country house at Hampton on which he had 
borrowed money, nothing must content Captain 
Dick but the taking, in 1712, a much finer, larger, 
and grander house, in Bloomsbury-square; where 



150 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

his unhappy landlord got no better satisfaction than 
his friend in St. James's, and where it is recorded 
that Dick, giving a grand entertainment, had a half- 
dozen queer-looking fellows in livery to wait upon 
his noble guests, and confessed that his servants were 
bailiffs to a man. " I fared like a distressed prince," 
the kindly prodigal writes, generously compliment- 
ing Addison for his assistance in the " Tatler," — 
"I fared like a distressed prince, who calls in a 
powerful neighbour to his aid. I was undone by my 
auxiliary; when I had once called him in, I could 
not subsist without dependence on him." Poor, 
needy Prince of Bloomsbury! think of him in his 
palace, with his allies from Chancery-lane ominously 
guarding him. 

All sorts of stories are told indicative of his 
recklessness and his good humour. One narrated 
by Dr. Hoadly is exceedingly characteristic; it 
shows the life of the time: and our poor friend 
very weak, but very kind both in and out of his 
cups, 

" My father," (says Dr. John Hoadly, the Bishop's 
son) — " when Bishop of Bangor, was, by invitation, 
present at one of the Whig meetings, held at the 
Trumpet, in Shoe Lane, when Sir Richard, in 
his zeal, rather exposed himself, having the double 
duty of the day upon him, as well to celebrate the 
immortal memory of King William, it being the 



STEELE. 151 

4th November, as to drink his friend Addison rip to 
conversation pitch, whose phlegmatic constitution was 
J hardly warmed for society by that time. Steele 
was not fit for it. Two remarkable circumstances 
happened. John Sly, the hatter of facetious memory, 
was in the house ; and John, pretty mellow, took it 
into his head to come into the company on his knees, 
with a tankard of ale in his hand to drink off to the 
immortal memory, and to return in the same manner. 
Steele, sitting next my father, whispered him — Do 
laugh. It is humanity to laugh. Sir Richard, in the 
evening, being too much in the same condition, was 
put into a chair, and sent home. Nothing would 
serve him but being carried to the Bishop of 
Bangor's, late as it was. However, the chairmen 
carried him home, and got him up-stairs, when 
his great complaisance would wait on them down 
stairs, which he did, and then was got quietly to 
bed." * 

There is another amusing story which, I believe, 
that renowned collector, Mr. Joseph Miller, or his 
successors, have incorporated into their work. Sir 
Richard Steele, at a time when he was much 
occupied with theatrical affairs, built himself a 

1 Of this famous Bishop, Steele wrote, — 

" Virtue with so much ease on Bangor sits, 
All faults he pardons, though he none commits." 

^An/yL <^C't 25" "fed,- &&T* ^-^ 



152 -ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

pretty private theatre, and, before it was opened 
to his friends and guests, was anxious to try whether 
the hall was well adapted for hearing. Accordingly 
he placed himself in the most remote part of the 
gallery, and begged the carpenter who had built the 
house to speak up from the stage. The man at first 
said that he was unaccustomed to public speaking, 
and did not know what to say to his honour ; but the 
good-natured knight called out to him to say what- 
ever was uppermost; and, after a moment, the 
carpenter began, in a voice perfectly audible : " Sir 
Richard Steele ! " he said, " for three months past 
me and my men has been a working in this theatre, 
and we've never seen the colour of your honour's 
money: we will be very much obliged if you'll 
pay it directly, for until you do we won't drive in 
another nail." Sir Richard said that his friend's 
elocution was perfect, but that he didn't like his 
subject much. 

The great charm of Steele's writing is its natural- 
ness. He wrote so quickly and carelessly, that he 
was forced to make the reader his confidant, and had 
not the time to deceive him. He had a small share 
of book-learning, but a vast acquaintance with the 
world. He had known men and taverns. He had 
lived with gownsmen, with troopers, with gentleman 
ushers of the Court, with men and women of 
fashion; with authors and wits, with the inmates 



STEELE. 153 

of the spunging houses, and with the frequenters 
of all the clubs and coffee-houses in the town. He 
was liked in all company because he liked it; and 
you like to see his enjoyment as you like to see the 
glee of a box full of children at the pantomime. He 
was not of those lonely ones of the earth whose 
greatness obliged them to be solitary; on the con- 
trary, he admired, I think, more than any man 
who ever wrote; and full of hearty applause and 
sympathy, wins upon you by calling you to share his 
delight and good-humour. His laugh rings through 
the whole house. He must have been invaluable 
at a tragedy, and have cried as much as the most 
tender young lady in the boxes. He has a relish 
for beauty and goodness wherever he meets it. He 
admired Shakspeare affectionately, and more than 
any man of his time ; and, according to his generous 
expansive nature, called upon all his company to 
like what he liked himself. He did not damn with 
faint praise : he was in the world and of it ; and his 
enjoyment of life presents the strangest contrast to 
Swift's savage indignation and Addison's lonely 
serenity. 1 Permit me to read to you a passage from 

1 Here we have some of his later letters : — 

TO LADY STEELE. 

"Hampton Court, March 16, 1716-17. 
" Dear Pkue, 

"If you have written anything to me which I should have 



154 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

each writer, curiously indicative of his peculiar 
humour: the subject is the same, and the mood 



received last night, I beg your pardon that I cannot answer till 

the next post Your son at the present writing is mighty 

well employed in tumbling on the floor of the room and sweeping 
the sand with a feather. He grows a most delightful child, and 
very full of play and spirit. He is also a very great scholar : he 
can read his primer ; and I have brought down my Virgil. He 
makes most shrewd remarks about the pictures. We are very 
intimate friends and playfellows. He begins to be very ragged ; 
and I hope I shall be pardoned if I equip him with new clothes 
and frocks, or what Mrs. Evans and I shall think for Ms service." 



TO LADY STEELE. 

[Undated.] 
" You tell me you want a little flattery from me. I assure you 
I know no one who deserves so much commendation as yourself, 
and to whom saying the best things would be so little like 
flattery. The thing speaks for itself, considering you as a very 
handsome woman that loves retirement — one who does not want 
wit, and yet is extremely sincere ; and so I could go through all 
the vices which attend the good qualities of other people, of 
which you are exempt. But, indeed, though you have every 
perfection, you have an extravagant fault, which almost frus- 
trates the good in you to me ; and that is, that you do not love 
to dress, to appear, to shine out, even at my request, and to make 
me proud of you, or rather to indulge the pride I have that you 
are mine. ..... 

" Your most affectionate, obsequious husband, 

"Kich. Steele. 

"A quarter of Molly's schooling is paid. The children are 
perfectly well." 

TO LADY STEELE. 

"March 26, 1717. 

" MY DEAREST PrUE, 

"I have received yours, wherein you give me the 
sensible affliction of telling me enow of the continual pain in 



STEELE. 155 

the very gravest. We have said that upon all the 
actions of man, the most trifling and the most 
solemn, the humourist takes upon himself to com- 
ment. All readers of our old masters know the 
terrible lines of Swift, in which he hints at his 
philosophy and describes the end of mankind: — 1 

"Amazed, confused, its fate unknown, 
The world stood trembling at Jove's throne ; 
"While each pale sinner hung his head, 
Jove, nodding, shook the heavens and said : 

' Offending race of human kind, 
By nature, reason, learning, blind ; 
You who through frailty stepped aside, 
And you who never err'd through pride ; 
You who in different sects were shamm'd, 
And come to see each other damn'd ; 
(So some folk told you, but they knew 
No more of Jove's designs than you.) 

your head When I lay in your place, and on your pillow, 

I assure you I fell into tears last night, to think that my charming 
little insolent might be then awake and in pain ; and took it to be 
a sin to go to sleep. 

"For this tender passion towards you, I must be contented 
that your Prueship will condescend to call yourself my well- 
wisher " 

At the time when the above later letters were written, Lady 
Steele was in Wales, looking after her estate there. Steele, about 
this time, was much occupied with a project for conveying fish 
alive, by which, as he constantly assures his, wife, he firmly 
believed he should make his fortune. It did not succeed, 
however. 

Lady Steele died in December of the succeeding year. She 
lies buried in Westminster Abbey. 

1 Lord Chesterfield sends these verses to Voltaire in a charac- 
teristic letter. 



156 ENGLISH HUMOTJEISTS. 

The world's mad business now is o'er, 
And I resent your frealcs no more ; 
i" to such blockheads set my wit, 
I damn such fools — go, go, you 're bit ! ' " 

Addison, speaking on the very same theme, but 

with how different a voice, saj^s, in his famous paper 

on Westminster Abbey ("Spectator," No. 26): — 

*3Tor my own part, though I am always serious, I 

do not know what it is to be melancholy, and can 

therefore take a view of nature in her deep and 

solemn scenes with the same pleasure as in her most 

gay and delightful ones. When I look upon the 

tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies 

within me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, 

every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with 

the grief of parents on a tombstone, my heart melts 

with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents 

themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for 

those we must quickly follow." (I have owned that 

I do not think Addison's heart melted very much, or 

that he indulged very inordinately in the " vanity 

of grieving.") " When," he goes on, sl when I see 

kings lying by those who deposed them: when I 

consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 

men that divided the world with their contests and 

disputes, — I reflect with sorrow and astonishment 

on the little competitions, factions, and debates of 

mankind. And, when I read the several dates on 

the tombs of some that died yesterday and some 600 



STEELE. 157 

years ago, I consider that Great Day when we shall 
all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance 
to«;ether." 

Our third humourist comes to speak upon the 
same subject. You will have observed in the previous 
extracts the characteristic humour of each writer — 
the subject and the contrast — the fact of Death, and 
the play of individual thought, by which each com- 
ments on it, and now hear the third writer — death, 
sorrow, and the grave, being for the moment also his 
theme. " The first sense of sorrow I ever knew," 
Steele says in the "Tatler," "was upon the death 
of my father, at which time I was not quite five 
years of age : but was rather amazed at what all the 
house meant, than possessed of a real understanding 
why nobody would play with us. I remember 1 
went into the room where his body lay, and my 
mother sate weeping alone by it. I had my battle- 
dore in my hand, and fell a beating the coffin, and 
calling papa ; for, I know not how, I had some idea 
that he was locked up there. My mother caught 
me in her arms, and, transported beyond all patience 
of the silent grief she was before in, she almost 
smothered me in her embraces, and told me in a 
flood of tears, ( Papa could not hear me, and would 
play with me no more : for they were going to put 
him under ground, whence he would never come to 
us again.' She was a very beautiful woman, of a 



158 ENGLISH HUMOTJKISTS. 

noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief 
amidst all the wildness of her transport, which 
methought struck me with an instinct of sorrow that, 
before I was sensible what it was to grieve, seized 
my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of 
my heart ever since." 

Can there be three more characteristic moods of 
minds and men ? (i Fools, do you know anything of 
this mystery?" says Swift, stamping on a grave and 
carrying his scorn for mankind actually beyond it. 
(i Miserable, purblind wretches, how dare you to pre- 
tend to comprehend the Inscrutable, and how can 
your dim eyes pierce the unfathomable deaths of 
yonder boundless heaven?" Addison, in a much 
kinder language and gentler voice, utters much the 
same sentiment : and speaks of the rivalry of wits, 
and the contests of holy men, with the same sceptic 
placidity. (( Look what a little vain dust we are ; " 
he says, smiling over the tombstones, and catching, 
as is his wont, quite a divine effulgence as he looks 
heavenward, he speaks in words of inspiration almost, 
of " the Great Day, when we shall all of us be con- 
temporaries, and make our appearance together." 

The third, whose theme is Death, too, and who 
will speak his word of moral as Heaven teaches him, 
leads you up to his father's coffin, and shows you 
his beautiful mother weeping, and himself an uncon- 
scious little boy wondering at her side. His own 



STEELE. 159 

natural tears flow as he takes your hand and con- 
fidingly asks your sympathy. 7 See how good and 
innocent and beautiful women are," he says, "how 
tender little children! Let ns love these and one 
another, brother — God knows we have need of love 
and pardon." So it is each man looks with his own 
eyes, speaks with his own voice, and prays his own 
prayer. 

When Steele asks your sympathy for the actors in 
that charming scene of Love and Grief and Death, 
who can refuse it? One yields to it as to the frank 
advance of a child, or to the appeal of a woman. 
A man is seldom more manly than when he is what 
you call unmanned — the source of his emotion is 
championship, pity, and courage ; the instinctive desire 
to cherish those who are innocent and unhappy, and 
defend those who are tender and weak. If Steele 
is not our friend he is nothing. He is by no means 
the most brilliant of wits nor the deepest of thinkers : 
but he is our friend : we love him, as children love 
their love with an A, because he is amiable. Who 
likes a man best because he is the cleverest or the 
wisest of mankind ; or a woman because she is the 
most virtuous, or talks French; or plays the piano 
better than the rest of her sex? I own to likino- 
Dick Steele the man, and Dick Steele the author, 
much better than much better men and much better 
authors, 



160 ENGLISH HUMOimiSTS, 

The misfortune regarding Steele is, that most part 
of the company here present must take his amiability 
upon hearsay, and certainly can't make his intimate 
acquaintance. Not that Steele was worse than his 
time; on the contrary, a far better, truer, and 
higher-hearted man than most who lived in it. But 
things were done in that society, and names were 
named, which would make you shudder now. What 
would be the sensation of a polite youth of the 
present day, if at a ball he saw the young object 
of his affections taking a box out of her pocket and 
a pinch of snuff: or if at dinner, by the charmer's 
side, she deliberately put her knife into her mouth ? 
If she cut her mother's throat with it, mamma would 
scarcely be more shocked. I allude to these pecu- 
liarities of by-gone times as an excuse for my 
favourite, Steele, who was not worse, and often much 
more delicate than his neighbours. 

There exists a curious document descriptive of 
the manners of the last age, which describes most 
minutely the amusements and occupations of persons 
of fashion in London at the time of which we are 
speaking ; the time of Swift, and Addison, and 
Steele. 

When Lord Sparkish, Tom Neverout, and Colonel 
Atwit, the immortal personages of Swift's polite con- 
versation, came to breakfast with my Lady Smart, 
at eleven o'clock in the morning, my Lord Smart 



STEELE. 161 

was absent at the levee. His lordship was at home 
to dinner at three o'clock to receive his guests ; and 
we may sit down to this meal, like the Barmecide's, 
and see the fops of the last century before us. 
Seven of them sat down at dinner, and were joined 
by a country baronet, who told them they kept court 
hours. These persons of fashion began their dinner 
with a sirloin of beef, fish, a shoulder of veal, and 
a tongue. My Lady Smart carved the sirloin, my 
Lady Answerall helped the fish, and the gallant 
Colonel cut the shoulder of veal. All made a con- 
siderable inroad on the sirloin and the shoulder of 
veal with the exception of Sir John, who had no 
appetite, having already partaken of a beefsteak and 
two mugs of ale, besides a tankard of March beer 
as soon as he got out of bed. They drank claret, 
which the master of the house said should always be 
drunk after fish; and my Lord Smart particularly 
recommended some excellent cider to my Lord 
Sparkish, which occasioned some brilliant remarks 
from that nobleman. When the host called for wine, 
he nodded to one or other of his guests, and said, 
" Tom Neverout, my service to you." 

After the first course came almond pudding, 
fritters, which the Colonel took with his hands out 
of the dish, in order to help the brilliant Miss 
Notable ; chickens, black puddings, and soup ; and 
Lady Smart, the elegant mistress of the mansion, 

M 



162 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

finding a skewer in a dish, placed it in her plate with 
directions that it should be carried down to the cook 
and dressed for the cook's own dinner. Wine and 
small beer were drunk during this second course; 
and when the Colonel called for beer, he called the 
butler, Friend, and asked whether the beer was good. 
Various jocular remarks passed from the gentlefolks 
to the servants ; at breakfast several persons had a 
word and a joke for Mrs. Betty, my lady's maid, who 
warmed the cream and had charge of the canister 
(the tea cost thirty shillings a pound in those days). 
When my Lady Sparkish sent her footman out to 
my Lady Match to come at six o'clock and play at 
quadrille, her ladyship warned the man to follow his 
nose, and if he fell by the way not to stay to get 
up again. And when the gentlemen asked the hall- 
porter if his lady was at home, that functionary 
replied, with manly waggishness, " She was at home 
just now, but she 's not gone out yet." 

After the puddings, sweet and black, the fritters 
and soup, came the third course, of which the chief 
dish was a hot venison pasty, which was put before 
Lord Smart, and carved by that nobleman. Besides 
the pasty, there was a hare, a rabbit, some pigeons, 
partridges, a goose, and a ham. Beer and wine w T ere 
freely imbibed during this course, the gentlemen 
always pledging somebody with every glass which 
they drank; and by this time the conversation 



STEELE. 163 

between Tom Neverout and Miss Notable had 
grown so brisk and lively, that the Derbyshire 
baronet began to think the young gentlewoman 
was Tom's sweetheart; on which Miss remarked, 
that she loved Tom "like pie." After the goose, 
some of the gentlemen took a dram of brandy, 
"which was very good for the wholesomes," Sir 
John said; and now having had a tolerably sub- 
stantial dinner, honest Lord Smart bade the butler 
bring up the great tankard full of October to Sir 
John. The great tankard was passed from hand to 
hand and mouth to mouth, but when pressed by the 
noble host upon the gallant Tom Neverout, he said, 
" No faith, my lord, I like your wine, and won't put 
a churl upon a gentleman. Your honour's claret is 
good enough for me." And so, the dinner over, the 
host said, " Hang saving, bring us up a ha'porth of 
cheese." 

The cloth was now taken away, and a bottle of 
Burgundy was set down, of which the ladies were 
invited to partake before they went to their tea. 
When they withdrew, the gentlemen promised to 
join them in an hour; fresh bottles were brought, 
the " dead men," meaning the empty bottles, removed ; 
and "d'you hear, John? bring clean glasses," my 
Lord Smart said. On which the gallant Colonel 
Alwit said, " I '11 keep my glass ; for wine is the best 
liquor to wash glasses in." 

M 2 



164 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS, 

After an hour the gentlemen joined the ladies, 
and then they all sate and played quadrille until 
three o'clock in the morning, when the chairs and 
the flambeaux came, and this noble company went 
to bed. 

Such were manners six or seven score years ago. 
I draw no inference from this queer picture — let all 
moralists here present deduce their own. Fancy the 
moral condition of that society in which a lady of 
fashion joked with a footman, and carved a great 
shoulder of veal, and provided besides a sirloin, 
a goose, hare, rabbit, chickens, partridges, black- 
puddings, and a ham for a dinner for eight 
Christians. What — what could have been the 
condition of that polite world in which people 
openly ate goose after almond pudding, and took 
their soup in the middle of dinner? Fancy a 
colonel in the Guards putting his hand into a dish 
of beignets d'abricot, and helping his neighbour, a 
young lady du monde! Fancy a noble lord calling 
out to the servants, before the ladies at his table, 
"Hang expense, bring us a ha'porth of cheese !" 
Such were the ladies of Saint James's — such were 
the frequenters of White's Chocolate House, when 
Swift used to visit it, and Steele described it as the 
centre of pleasure, gallantry, and entertainment, a 
hundred and forty years ago! 

Dennis, who ran a muck at the literary society of 



STEELE. 165 

his day, falls foul of poor Steele, and thus depicts 

him, — " Sir John Edgar, of the County of in 

Ireland, is of a middle stature, broad shoulders, 
thick legs, a shape like the picture of somebody 
over a farmer's chimney — a short chin, a short 
nose, a short forehead, a broad, flat- face, and a 
dusky countenance. Yet with such a face and 
such a shape, he discovered at sixty that he took 
himself for a beauty, and appeared to be more 
mortified at being told that he was ugly, than he 
was by any reflection made upon his honour or 
understanding. 

" He is a gentleman born, witness himself, of very 
honourable family ; certainly of a very ancient one, 
for his ancestors flourished in Tipperary long before 
the English ever set foot in Ireland. He has testi- 
mony of this more authentic than the Heralds' Office, 
or any human testimony. For God has marked him 
more abundantly than he did Cain, and stamped his 
native country on his face, his understanding, his 
writings, his actions, his passions, and, above all, his 
vanity. The Hibernian brogue is still upon all these, 
though long habit and length of days have worn it 
off his tongue." x 

1 Steele replied to Dennis in an "Answer to a Whimsical 
Pamphlet, called the Character of Sir John Edgar." What 
Steele had to say against the cross-grained old Critic discovers 
a great deal of humour : 



166 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Although this portrait is the work of a man who 
was neither the friend of Steele nor of any other 



" Thou never did'st let the sun into thy garret, for fear he 
should bring a bailiff along with hirn 

"Your years are about sixty -five, an ugly, vinegar face, that if 
you had any command you would be obeyed out of fear, from 
your ill-nature pictured there ; not from any other motive. Your 
height is about some five feet five inches. You see I can give 
your exact measure as well as if I had taken your dimension 
with a good cudgel, which I promise you to do as soon as ever I 
have the good fortune to meet you 

"Your doughty paunch stands before you like a firkin of 
butter, and your duck-legs seem to be cast for carrying 
burdens. 

"Thy works are libels upon others, and satires upon thyself; 
and while they bark at men of sense, call him knave and fool that 
wrote them. Thou hast a great antipathy to thy own species ; 
and hatest the sight of a fool but in thy glass." 

Steele had been kind to Dennis, and once got arrested on account 
of a pecuniary service which he did him. When John heard of the 
fact — " S'death ! " cries John ; " why did not he keep out of the 
way as I did ? " 

The "Answer" concludes by mentioning that Gibber had 
offered Ten Pounds for the discovery of the authorship of 
Dennis's pamphlet ; on which, says Steele, — 

"I am only sorry he has offered so much, because the twentieth 
part would have over-valued his whole carcase. But I know the 
fellow that he keeps to give answers to his creditors will betray 
him ; for he gave me his word to bring officers on the top of the 
house that should make a hole through the ceiling of his garret, 
and so bring him to the punishment he deserves. Some people 
think this expedient out of the way, and that he would make 
his escape upon hearing the least noise. I say so too ; but 
it takes him up half an hour every night to fortify him- 
self with his old hair trunk, two or three joint- stools, and 
some other lumber, which he ties together with cords so fast 
that it takes him up the same time in the morning to release 
himself." 



STEELE. 167 

man alive, yet there is a dreadful resemblance to 
,4ie original in the savage and exaggerated traits of 
the caricature, and every body who knows him must 
recognise Dick Steele. Dick set about almost all 
the undertakings of his life with inadequate means, 
and, as he took and furnished a house with the most 
generous intentions towards his friends, the most 
tender gallantry towards his wife, and with this 
only drawback, that he had not wherewithal to pay 
the rent when Quarter-day came, — so, in his life he 
proposed to himself the most magnificent schemes of 
virtue, forbearance, public and private good, and the 
advancement of his own and the national religion; 
but when he had to pay for these articles — so 
difficult to purchase and so costly to maintain — 
poor Dick's money was not forthcoming : and when 
Virtue called with her little bill, Dick made a 
shuffling excuse that he could not see her that 
morning, having a headache from being tipsy over 
night; or when stern Duty rapped at the door 
with his account, Dick was absent and not ready 
to pay. He was shirking at the tavern; or 
had some particular business (of somebody's else) 
at the ordinary: or he was in hiding, or worse 
than in hiding, in the lock-up house. What a 
situation for a man! — for a philanthropist — for a 
lover of right and truth — for a magnificent de- 
signer and schemer! Not to dare to look in the 



168 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

face the Religion which he adored and which he 
had offended: to have to shirk down back lanes 
and alleys, so as to avoid the friend whom he 
loved and who had trusted him — to have the house 
which he had intended for his wife, whom he 
loved passionately, and for her ladyship's company 
which he wished to entertain splendidly, in the pos- 
session of a bailiff's man, with a crowd of little 
creditors, — grocers, butchers, and small-coal men, 
lingering round the door with their bills and jeering 
at him. Alas ! for poor Dick Steele ! For nobody 
else, of course. There is no man or woman in our 
time who makes fine projects and gives them up 
from idleness or want of means. When Duty calls 
upon us, we no doubt are always at home and ready 
to pay that grim tax-gatherer. When ice are stricken 
with remorse and promise reform, we keep our pro- 
mise, and are never angry, or idle, or extravagant 
any more. There are no chambers in our hearts, 
destined for family friends and affections, and now 
occupied by some Sin's emissary and bailiff in pos- 
session. There are no little sins, shabby peccadilloes, 
importunate remembrances, or disappointed holders 
of our promises to reform, hovering at our steps, 
or knocking at our door ! Of course not. We are 
living in the nineteenth century, and poor Dick 
Steele stumbled and got up again, and got into jail 
and oat again, and sinned and repented; and loved 



STEELE. 169 

and suffered; and lived and died scores of years 
ago. Peace be with, him! Let us think gently 
of one who was so gentle: let ns speak kindly 
of one whose own breast exuberated with human 
kindness. 



LECTURE THE FOURTH. 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 

Matthew Peiok was one of those famous and 
lucky wits of the auspicious reign of Queen Anne, 
whose name it behoves us not to pass over. Mat 
was a world-philosopher of no small genius, good 
nature, and acumen. 1 (He loved, he drank, he sang.? 

1 Gay calls him — " Dear Prior .... beloved by every muse." 
— Mr. Pope's Welcome from Greece. 

Swift and Prior were very intimate, and he is frequently men- 
tioned in the " Journal to Stella." "Mr. Prior," says Swift, 

" walks to make himself fat, and I to keep myself down 

We often walk round the park together." 

In Swift's works there is a curious tract called " Remarks on 
the Characters of the Court of Queen Anne" [Scott's edition, 
vol. xii.] The " Remarks " are not by the Dean ; but at the end 
of each is an addition in italics from his hand, and these are 
always characteristic. Thus, to the Duke of Marlborough, he 
adds, " Detestably Covetous" &c. Prior is thus noticed — 

" Matthew Prior, Esq., Commissioner of Trade. 

" On the Queen's accession to the throne, he was continued in 
his office; is very well at court with the ministry, and is an entire 
creature of my Lord Jersey's, whom he supports by his advice ; 



PPJOIt, GAY, AND POPE. 171 

He describes himself, in one of his lyrics, " in a little 
Dutch chaise on a Saturday night; on his left hand 
his Horace, and a friend on his right," going out of 
town from the Hague to pass that evening and the 
ensuing Sunday, boozing at a Spiel-haus with his 
companions, perhaps bobbing for perch in a Dutch 
canal, and noting down, in a strain and with a grace 
not unworthy of his Epicurean master, the charms 
of his idleness, his retreat, and his Batavian Chloe. , 
A vintner's son in Whitehall, and a distinguished 
pupil of Busby of the Rod, Prior attracted some 
notice by writing verses at St, John's College, Cam- 
bridge, and, coming up to town, aided Montague 1 

is one of the best poets in England, but very facetious in conver- 
sation. A thin, hollow-looked man, turned of 40 years old. This 
is near the truth." 

/" Yet counting as far as to fifty his years, 
/ His virtues and vices were as other men's are, 

High hopes he conceived and he smothered great fears, 
In a life party-coloured — half pleasure, half care. 

Not to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave, 
He strove to make interest and freedom agree , 

In public employments industrious and grave, 

And alone with his friends, Lord, how merry was he ! 

Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot, 
Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust ; 

And whirled in the round as the wheel turned about, 

He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust." 
Prior's Poems. [For my own monument.] 

1 " They joined to produce a parody, entitled the ! Town and 
Country Mouse,' part of which Mr. Bayes is supposed to gratify 



172 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

in an attack on the noble old English lion John 
Dryden, in ridicule of whose work, " The Hind and 
the Panther," he brought out that remarkable and 
famous burlesque, " The Town and Country Mouse." 
Aren't you all acquainted with it? Have you not 
all got it by heart? What! have you never heard 
of it ? See what fame is made of ! The wonderful 
part of the satire was, that, as a natural consequence 
of p The Town and Country Mouse," Matthew Prior 
was made Secretary of Embassy at the Hague ! I 
believe it is dancing, rather than singing, which 
distinguishes the young English diplomatists of the 
present day; and have seen them in various parts 
perform that part of their duty very finely. In 
Prior's time it appears a different accomplishment 
led to preferment. Could you write a copy of 
Alcaics? that was the question. Could you turn 
out a neat epigram or two ? Could you compose 
"The Town and Country Mouse?" It is manifest 
that, by the possession of this faculty, the most diffi- 
cult treaties, the laws of foreign nations, and the 
interests of our own, are easily understood. Prior 
rose in the diplomatic service, and said good things 



nis old friends Smart arid Johnson, by repeating to them. The 
piece is therefore founded upon the twice-told jest of the 'Ee- 
hearsal.' ... There is nothing new or original in the idea. . . . 
In this piece, Prior, though the younger man, seems to have had 
by far the largest share." — Scott's Dryden, vol. i. p. 330. 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 173 

that proved his sense and his spirit. When the 
apartments at Versailles were shown to him, with 
the victories of Louis XIV. painted on the walls, 
and Prior was asked whether the palace of the King 
of England had any snch decorations, tf \The monu- 
ments of my master's actions," Mat said, of William, 
whom he cordially revered, " are to be seen every- 
where except in his own house."J Bravo, Mat ! 
Prior rose to be full ambassador at Paris, 1 where 
he somehow was cheated out of his ambassadorial 
plate ; and in a heroic poem, addressed by him to 
her late lamented majesty Queen Anne, Mat makes 
some magnificent allusions to these dishes and spoons, 
of which Fate had deprived him. All that he wants, 
he says, is her Majesty's picture; without that he 
can't be happy. 

1 " He was to have been in the same commission with the Duke 
of Shrewsbury, but that that nobleman," says Johnson, "refused 
to be associated with one so meanly born. Prior therefore con- 
tinued to act without a title till the Duke's return next year to 
England, and then he assumed the style and dignity of ambas- 
sador." 

He had been thinking of slights of this sort when he wrote his 
Epitaph : — 

w Nobles and heralds by your leave, 

Here lies what once was Matthew Prior, 
The son of Adam and ot Eve ; 

Can Bourbon or Nassau claim higher ? " 

But, in this case, the old prejudice got the better of the old 
joke. 



174 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

' k Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore : 
Thee, Queen of Peace, if Time and Fate have power 
Higher to raise the glories of thy reign, 
In words sublhner and a nobler strain. 
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse. 
Here, Stator Jove, and Phoebus, king of verse, 
The votive tablet I suspend." 

With that word the poem stops abruptly. The 
votive tablet is suspended for ever like Mahomet's 
coffin. News came that the Queen was dead. Stator 
Jove, and Phoebus, king of verse, were left there, 
hovering to this day, over the votive tablet. The 
picture was never got any more than the spoons and 
dishes — the inspiration ceased — the verses were not 
wanted — the ambassador wasn't wanted. Poor Mat 
was recalled from his embassy, suffered disgrace 
along with his patrons, lived under a sort of cloud 
ever after, and disappeared in Essex. When deprived 
of all his pensions and emoluments, the hearty and 
generous Oxford pensioned him. (They played for 
gallant stakes — the bold men of those days — and 
lived and gave splendidly/N 

Johnson quotes from Spence a legend, that Prior, 
after spending an evening with Harley, St. John, 
Pope, and Swift, would go off and smoke a pipe 
with a couple of friends of his, a soldier and his 
wife, in Long Acre. Those who have not read his 
late excellency's poems should be warned that they 
smack not a little of the conversation of his Long 



PKIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 175 

Acre friends. Johnson speaks slightingly of his 
lyrics ; but with due deference to the great Samuel, 
Prior's seem to me amongst the easiest, the richest, 
the most charmingly humourous of English lyrical 
poems. 1 Horace is always in his mind, and his song, 
and his philosophy, his good sense, his happy easy 
turns and melody, his loves, and his Epicureanism, 
bear a great resemblance to that most delightful and 
accomplished master. In reading his works, one is 

1 His epigrams have the genuine sparkle : 

The Remedy worse than the Disease. 

"I sent for Radcliff ; was so ill, 

That other doctors gave me over : 
He felt my pulse, prescribed a pill, 
And I was likely to recover. 

" But when the wit began to wheeze, 
And wine had warmed the politician, 
Cured yesterday of my disease, 
I died last night of my physician." 



Yes, every poet is a fool ; 

By demonstration Ned can show it ; 
Happy could Ned's inverted rule 

Prove every fool to he a poet." 



On his death-bed poor Lubin lies, 

His spouse is in despair ; 
With frequent sobs and mutual sighs, 

They both express their care. 

; A different cause says Parson Sly, 
The same effect may give ; 

Poor Lubin fears that he shall die r 
His wife that he may live." 



176 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

struck with their modern air, as well as by their 
happy similarity to the songs of the charming owner 
of the Sabine farm. In his verses addressed to 
Halifax, he says, writing of that endless theme to 
poets, the vanity of human wishes — 

" So when in fevered dreams we sink, 
And, waking, taste what we desire, 
The real draught hut feeds the fire, 
The dream is better than the drink. 

" Our hopes like towering falcons aim 
At objects in an airy height : 
To stand aloof and view the flight, 
Is all the pleasure of the game." 

Would not you fancy that a poet of our own days 
was singing? and, in the verses of Chloe weeping 
and reproaching him for his inconstancy, where he 

says — 

" The God of us verse-men, you know, child, the Sun, 
How after his journey, he sets up his rest. 
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run, 
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast. 

" So, when I am wearied with wandering all day, 
To thee, my delight, in the evening I come : 
No matter what beauties I saw in my way ; 

They were but my visits, but thou art my home ! 

<: Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war, 
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree ; 
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, 
As he was a poet sublimer than me." 

If Prior read Horace, did not Thomas Moore study 
Prior ? Love and pleasure find singers in all days. 



PBIOB, <UY, AND POPE. 177 

Roses are always blowing and fading — to-day as in 

that pretty time when Prior sang of them, and of 

Chloe lamenting their decay — 

'/ She sighed, she smiled, and to the flowers 
/ Pointing, the lovely moralist said ; 
See, friend, in some few leisure hours, 
See yonder what a change is made ! 

" Ah, me ! the blooming pride of May, 
And that of Beauty are hut one : 
At morn both flourisht, bright and gay, 
Both fade at evening, pale and gone. 

" At dawn poor Stella danced and sung, 
The amorous youth around her bowed, 
At night her fatal knell was rung ; 
I saw, and kissed her in her shroud. 

" Such as she is who died to-day, 
Such I, alas, may be to-morrow : 
Go, Damon, bid the Muse display 
The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow." 

Damon's knell was rung in 1721. May his turf 
lie lightly on him ! Deus sit propitius huic potatori, as 
Walter de Mapes sang. 1 Perhaps Samuel Johnson, 

1 PRIOR TO SIR THOMAS HANMER. 

"Aug. 4, 1709. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Friendship may live, I grant you, without being fed and 
cherished by correspondence ; but with that additional benefit I 
am of opinion it will look more cheerful and thrive better : for in 
this case, as in love, though a man is sure of his own constancy, 
yet his happiness depends a good deal upon the sentiments of 
another, and while you and Chloe are alive, 'tis not enough that 
I love you both, except I am sure you both love me again ; and as 
one of her scrawls fortifies my mind more against affliction than 
all Epictetus, with Simplicius's comments into the bargain, so 

N 



178 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

who spoke slightingly of Prior's verses, enjoyed them 
more than he was willing to own. The old moralist 

your single letter gave me more real pleasure than all the works 

of Plato I must return my answer to your very kind 

question concerning my health. The Bath waters have done a 
good deal towards the recovery of it, and the great specific, Cape 
Caballum, will, I think, confirm it. Upon this head I must tell 
you that my mare Betty grows blind, and may one day, by 
breaking my neck, perfect my cure : if at Rixham fair any pretty 
nagg that is between thirteen and fourteen hands presented him- 
self, and you would be pleased to purchase him for me, one of 
your servants might ride him to Euston, and I might receive him 
there. This, sir, is just as such a thing happens. If you hear, 
too, of a Welch widow, with a good jointure, that has her goings 
and is not very skittish, pray, be pleased to cast your eye on her 
for me, too. You see, sir, the great trust I repose in your skill 
and honour, when I dare put two such commissions in your 
hand. .... ," — The Hanmer Correspondence, p. 120. 

FROM MR. PRIOR. 

"Paris, 1st— 12th May, 1714. 
"My dear Lord and Friend, 

" Matthew never had so great occasion to write a word to 
Henry as now : it is noised here that I am soon to return. The 
question that I wish I could answer to the many that ask, and to 
our friend Colbert de Torcy (to whom I made your compliments 
in the manner you commanded) is, what is done for me ; and to 
what I am recalled ? It may look like a bagatelle, what is to 
become of a philosopher like me ? but it is not such : what is to 
become of a person who had the honoui to be chosen, and sent 
hither as intrusted, in the midst of a war, with what the Queen 
designed should make the peace ; returning with the Lord Boling- 
broke, one of the greatest men in England, and one of the finest 
heads in Europe (as they say here, if true or not, rfimporte) ; 
having been left by him in the greatest character (that of Her 
Majesty's Plenipotentiary), exercising that power conjointly with 
the Duke of Shrewsbury, and solely after his departure ; having 



PHIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 179 

had studied them as well as Mr. Thomas Moore, 
and defended them, and showed that he remembered 



here received more distinguished honour than any Minister, 
except an Ambassador, ever did, and some "which were never 
given to any, hut who had that character ; having had all the 
success that could be expected, having fGod be thanked!) spared 
no pains, at a time when at home the peace is voted safe and 
honourable — at a time when the Earl of Oxford is Lord Treasurer 
and Lord Bolingbroke Eirst Secretary of State ? This unfortu- 
nate person. I say, neglected, forgot, unnamed to anything that 
may speak the Queen satisfied with his services, or his friends 
concerned as to his fortune. 

"Mr. de Torcy put me quite out of countenance, the other day, 
by a pity that wounded me deeper than ever did the cruelty of 
the late Lord Godolphin. He said he would write to Kobin and 
Harry about me. God forbid, my lord, that I should need any 
foreign intercession, or owe the least to any Erenchman living, 
besides the decency of behaviour and the returns of common 
civility : some say I am to go to Baden, others that I am to be 
added to the Commissioners for settling the commerce. In all 
cases I am ready, bat in the mean time, die aliquid de tribus 
capellis. Neither of these two are, I presume, honours or rewards, 
neither of them (let me say to my dear Lord Bolingbroke, and let 
him not be angry with, me,) are what Drift may aspire to, and 
what Mr. Whitworth, who was his fellow clerk, has or may 
possess. I am far from desiring to lessen the great merit of the 
gentleman I named, for I heartily esteem and love him ; but in 
this trade of ours, my Lord, in which you are the general, as in 
that of the soldiery, there is a certain right acquired by time and 
long service. You would do anything for your Queen's service, 
but you would not be contented to descend, and be degraded to a 
charge, no way proportioned to that of Secretary of State, any 
more than Mr. Boss, though he would charge a party with a 
halbard in his hand, would be content all his life after to be 
Serjeant. Was my Lord Dartmouth, from Secretary, returned 
again to be Commissioner of Trade, or from Secretary of War, 
would Frank Gwyn think himself kindly used to be returned 
again to be Commissioner ? In short, my lord, you have put me 

N 2 



180 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

them very well too, on an occasion when their 
morality was called in question by that noted puritan, 
James Boswell, Esq., of Auchinleck. 1 

above myself, and if I am to return to myself, I shall return to 
something yery discontented and uneasy. I am sure, my lord, 
you will make the best use you can of this hint for my good. If 
I am to have anything, it will certainly be for Her Majesty's 
service, and the credit of my friends in the Ministry, that it be 
done before I am recalled from home, lest the world may think 
either that I have merited to be disgraced, or that ye dare not 
stand by me. If nothing is to be done, fiat voluntas Dei. I have 
writ to Lord Treasurer upon this subject, and having implored 
your kind intercession, I promise you it is the last remonstrance 
of this kind that I will ever make. Adieu, my lord ; all honour, 
health, and pleasure to you, 

" Yours ever, 

" Matt." 

"P.S. — Lady Jersey is just gone from me. We drank your 
healths together in usquebaugh after our tea : we are the greatest 
friends alive. Once more adieu. There is no such thing as the 
' Book of Travels ' you mentioned ; if there be, let friend Tilson 
send us more particular account of them, for neither I nor Jacob 
Tonson can find them. Pray send Barton back to me, I hope with 
some comfortable tidings." — Bolingbroke's Letters. 

1 " I asked whether Prior's poems were to be printed entire ; 
Johnson said they were. I mentioned Lord Hales' censure of 
Prior in his preface to a collection of sacred poems, by various 
hands, published by him at Edinburgh a great many years ago, 
where he mentions ' these impure tales, which will be the eternal 
opprobium of their ingenious author.' Johnson : ' Sir, Lord 
Hales has forgot. There is nothing in Prior that will excite to 
lewdness. If Lord Hales thinks there is, he must be more com- 
bustible than other people.' I instanced the tale of ' Paulo 
Purganti and his wife.' Johnson: 'Sir, there is nothing there 
but that his wife wanted to be kissed, when poor Paulo was out 
of pocket. No, sir, Prior is a lady's book. No lady is ashamed 
to have it standing in her library."— -Boswell's Life of Johnson. 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 181 

In the great society of the wits, John Gay deserved 
to be a favourite, and to have a good place. 1 In 
his set all were fond of him. His success offended 
nobody. He missed a fortune once or twice. He 
was talked of for court favour, and hoped to win 
it; but the court favour jilted him. Craggs gave 
him some South-Sea Stock ; and at one time Gay 
had very nearly made his fortune. But Fortune 
shook her swift wings and jilted him too : and so 
his friends, instead of being angry with him, and 
jealous of him, were kind and fond of honest Gay. 
In the portraits of the literary worthies of the early 
part of the last century, Gay's face is the pleasantest 
perhaps of all. It appears adorned with neither 

1 Gay was of an old Devonshire family, but his pecuniary 
prospects not being great, was placed in his youth in the house 
of a silk-mercer in London. He was born in 1688 — Pope's year, 
and in 1712 the Duchess of Monmouth made him her secretary. 
Next year he published his " Rural Sports," which he dedicated 
to Pope, and so made an acquaintance, which became a memorable 
friendship. 

" Gay,"* says Pope, " was quite a natural man, — wholly without 
art or design, and spoke just what he thought and as he thought 
it. He dangled for twenty years about a court, and at last was 
offered to be made usher to the young princess. Secretary Craggs 
made Gay a present of stock in the South- Sea year ; and he was 
once worth 20,000?., but lost it all again. He got about 500/. by 
the first Beggar's Opera, and 1100/. or 1200/. by the second. He 
was negligent and a bad manager. Latterly, the Duke of Queens- 
berry took his money into his keeping, and let him only have 
what was necessary out of it, and, as he lived with them, he could 
not have occasion for much. He died worth upwards of 3,000/." — 
Pope (Spence's Anecdotes). 






182 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

periwig nor night-cap (the full dress and negligee of 
learning, without which the painters of those days 
scarcely ever pourtrayed wits), and he laughs at you 
over his shoulder with an honest hoyish glee — an 
artless sweet humour. (He was so kind, so gentle, 
so jocular, so delightfully brisk at times, so dismally 
woe-begone at others, such a natural good-creature 
that the Giants loved him>^ The great Swift was 
gentle and sportive with him, 1 as the enormous Brob- 
dingnag maids of honour were with little Gulliver. 
He could frisk and fondle round Pope, 2 and sport, 
and bark, and caper without offending the most thin- 
skinned of poets and men ; and when he was jilted 
in that little court affair of which we have spoken, 

1 " Mr. Gay is, in all regards, as honest and sincere a man as 
ever I knew." — Swift, to Lady Betty Germaine, Jan. 1733. 

8 " Of manners gentle, of affections mild ; 
In wit a man ; simplicity, a child ; 
With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage, 
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age ; 
Above temptation in a low estate, 
And uncorrupted e'en among the great : 
A safe companion, and an easy friend, 
Unblamed through life, lamented in the end. 
These are thy honours ; not that here thy bust 
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust ; 
But that the worthy and the good shall say, 
Striking their pensive bosoms, ' Here lies Gay.' " 

Pope's Epitaph on Gay. 

" A hare who, in a civil way, 
Complied with everything, like Gay." 

Fables, " The Hare and many Friends.'* 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 183 

his warm-hearted patrons the Duke and Duchess of 
Queensberry, 1 (the (< Kitty, beautiful and young," of 

1 "I can give you no account of Gay," says Pope, curiously, 
" since he was raffled for, and won back by his Duchess." — Works, 
Iioscoe's Ed,, vol. ix. p. 392. 

Here is the letter Pope wrote to him when the death of Queen 
Anne brought back Lord Clarendon from Hanover, and lost him 
the secretaryship of that nobleman, of which he had had but a 
short tenure. 

Gay's court prospects were never happy from this time. — His 
dedication of the " Shepherd's Week," to Bolingbroke, Swift used 
to call the " original sin," which had hurt him with the house of 
Hanover. 

" Sept. 23, 1714. 

" Dear Mr. Gay,— 

" Welcome to your native soil ! welcome to your friends ! 
thrice welcome to me! whether returned in glory, blest with 
court interest, the love and familiarity of the great, and filled 
with agreeable hopes ; or melancholy with dejection, contempla- 
tive of the changes of fortune, and doubtful for the future ; 
whether returned a triumphant Whig or a depending Tory, 
equally all hail ! equally beloved and welcome to me ! If happy, 
I am to partake of your elevation ; if unhappy, you have still a 
warm corner in my heart, and a retreat at Benfield in the worst 
of times at your service. If you are a Tory, or thought so by 
any man, I know it can proceed from nothing but your gratitude 
to a few people who endeavoured to serve you, and whose politics 
were never your concern. If you are a Whig, as I rather hope, 
and as I think your principles and mine (as brother poets) had 
ever a bias to the side of liberty, I know you will be an honest 
man and an inoffensive one. Upon the whole, I know you are 
incapable of being so much of either party as to be good for 
nothing. Therefore, once more, whatever you are or in whatever 
state you are, all hail ! 

" One or two of your own friends complained they had nothing 
from you since the Queen's death ; I told them no man living 
loved Mr. Gay better than I, yet I had not once written to him 
in all his voyage. This I thought a convincing proof, but truly 



184 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

Prior,) pleaded his cause with indignation, and quitted 
the court in a huff, carrying off with them into their 

one may be a friend to another without telling him so every 
month. But they had reasons, too, themselves to allege in your 
excuse, as men who really value one another will never want such 
as make their friends and themselves easy. The late universal 
concern in public affairs threw us all into a hurry of spirits : 
even I, who am more a philosopher than to expect anything from 
any reign, was borne away with the current, and full of the 
expectation of the successor. During your journeys, I knew not 
whither to aim a letter after you ; that was a sort of shooting 
flying : add to this the demand Homer had upon me, to write fifty 
verses a day, besides learned notes, all of which are at a conclu- 
sion for this year. Eejoice with me, O my friend! that my 
labour is over ; come and make merry with me in much feasting. 
We will feed among the lilies (by the lilies I mean the ladies). 
Are not the Eosalindas of Britain as charming as the Blousalindas 
of the Hague ? or have the two great Pastoral poets of our own 
nation renounced love at the same time ? for Phillips, unnatural 
Phillips, hath deserted it, yea, and in a rustic manner kicked his 
Rosalind. Dr. Parnell and I have been inseparable ever since 
you went. We are now at the Bath, where (if you are not, as I 
heartily hope, better engaged) your company would be the greatest 
pleasure to us in the world. (jTalk not of expenses : Homer shall, 
support his children. I beg a line from you, directed to the Post- 
house in Bath. Poor Parnell is in an ill state of health. 

" Pardon me if I add a word of advice in the poetical way. 
Write something on the King, or Prince, or Princess. On what- 
soever foot you may be with the court, this can do no harm. I 
shall never know where to end, and am confounded in the many 
things I have to say to you, though they all amount but to this, 
that I am, entirely, as ever, 

" Your," &c. 

Gay took the advice " in the poetical way," and published "An 
Epistle to a Lady, occasioned by the arrival of her Royal Highness 
the Princess of Wales." But, though this brought him access to 
Court, and the attendance of the Prince and Princess at his farce 
of the " What d'ye call it," it did not bring him a place. On the 



PItfOfc, GAT, AKD POPE. 185 

retirement their kind gentle protege, j With these 
kind lordly folks, a real Duke and Duchess, as 
delightful as those who harboured Don Quixote, and 
loved that dear old Sancho, Gay lived, and was 
lapped in cotton, and had his plate of chicken, and 
his saucer of cream, and frisked, and barked, and 
wheezed, and grew fat, and so ended. 1 He became 
very melancholy and lazy, sadly plethoric, and only 
occasionally diverting in his latter days. But every- 
body loved him, and the remembrance of his pretty 
little tricks ; and the raging old Dean of St. Patrick's, 
chafing in his banishment, was afraid to open the 
letter which Pope wrote him, announcing the sad 
news of the death of Gay. 2 

accession of George II., he was offered the situation of Gentleman 
Usher to the Princess Louisa (her Highness heing then two years 
old); but "by this offer," says Johnson, "he thought himself 
insulted." 

1 "Gay was a great eater. — As the French philosopher used 
to prove his existence by cogito, ergo sum, the greatest proof of 
Gay's existence is, edit, ergo est." — Congreve, in a Letter to Pope 
(Spence's Anecdotes'). 

2 Swift indorsed the letter — "On my dear friend Mr. Gay's 
death ; received Dec. 15, but not read till the 20th, by an impulse 
foreboding some misfortune." 

" It was by Swift's interest that Gay was made known to Lord 
Bolingbroke, and obtained his patronage." — Scott's Swift, vol. i. 
p. 156. 

Pope wrote on the occasion of Gay's death, to Swift, thus : — 

" [Dec. 5, 1732.] 
. . . . " One of the dearest and longest ties I have ever had i3 
broken all on a sudden by the unfortunate death of poor Mr. 



186 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

Swift's letters to him are beautiful ; and having no 
purpose but kindness in writing to him, no party aim 
to advocate, or slight or anger to wreak, every word 
the Dean says to his favourite is natural, trustworthy, 
and kindly. His admiration for Gay's parts and 
honesty, and his laughter at his weaknesses, were alike 
just and genuine. He paints his character in wonder- 
ful pleasant traits of jocular satire. " I writ lately 
to Mr. Pope," Swift says, writing to Gay ; " I wish 
you had a little villakin in his neighbourhood ; but 
you are yet too volatile, and any lady with a coach 
and six horses would carry you to Japan." " If your 
ramble," says Swift, in another letter, " was on horse- 
back, I am glad of it, on account of your health ; 
but I know your arts of packing up a journey between 
stage-coaches and friends' coaches — for you are as 
arrant a cockney as any hosier in Cheapside. I have 
often had it in my head to put it into yours, that you 
ought to have some great work in scheme, which 
may take up seven years to finish, besides two or 
three under-ones that may add another thousand 



Gay. An inflammatory fever carried him out of this life in three 

days He asked of you a few hours before when in acute 

torment by the inflammation in his bowels and breast His 

sisters, we suppose, will be his heirs, who are two widows .... 
Good God ! how often are we to die before we go quite off this 
stage ? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best 
part. God keep those we have left ! few are worth praying for, 
and one's self the least of all." 



PPJQB, GAY, AND POPE. 187 

pounds to your stock, and then I shall be in less pain 
about you. I know you can find dinners, but you 
love twelve-penny coaches too well, without consi- 
dering that the interest of a whole thousand pounds 
brings you but half-a-crown a day :" and then Swift 
goes off from Gay to pay some grand compliments 
bo Her Grace the Duchess of Queensberry, in whose 
sunshine Mr. Gay was basking, and in whose radiance 
the Dean would' have liked to warm himself too. 

But we have Gay here before us, in these letters — 
lazy, kindly, uncommonly idle ; rather slovenly, I 'm 
afraid; for ever eating and saying good things; a 
little, round, French abbe of a man, sleek, soft- 
handed, and soft-hearted. 

Our object in these lectures is rather to describe 
the men than their works ; or to deal with the latter 
Dnly in as far as they seem to illustrate the character 
rf their writers. Mr. Gay's <e Fables," which were 
written to benefit that amiable Prince, the Duke of 
Cumberland, the warrior of Dettingen and Culloden, 
[ have not, I own, been able to peruse since a period 
[)f very early youth ; and it must be confessed that 
they did not effect much benefit upon the illustrious 
young Prince, whose manners they were intended to 
mollify, and whose natural ferocity our gentle-hearted 
Satirist perhaps proposed to restrain. But the six 
pastorals called the " Shepherd's Week," and the 
burlesque poem of <( Trivia," any man fond of lazy 



188 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

literature will find delightful, at the present day, and 
must read from beginning to end with pleasure. 
They are to poetry what charming little Dresden 
china figures are to sculpture: graceful, minikin, 
fantastic ; with a certain beauty always accompanying 
them. The pretty little personages of the pastoral, 
with gold clocks to their stockings, and fresh satin 
ribbons to their crooks and waistcoats and boddices, 
dance their loves to a minuet-tune played on a bird- 
organ, approach the charmer, or rush from the false 
one daintily on their red-heeled tiptoes, and die of 
despair or rapture, with the most pathetic little grins 
and ogles ; or repose, simpering at each other, under 
an arbour of pea-green crockery ; or piping to pretty 
flocks that have just been washed with the best Naples 
in a stream of Bergamot. Gay's gay plan seems to 
me far pleasanter than that of Phillips — his rival and 
Pope's — a serious and dreary idyllic cockney; not 
that Gay's " Bumkinets and Hobnelias" are a whit 
more natural than the would-be serious characters of 
the other posture-master ; but the quality of this true 
humourist was to laugh and make laugh, though 
always with a secret kindness and tenderness, to per- 
form the drollest little antics and capers, but always 
with a certain grace, and to sweet music — as you 
may have seen a Savoyard boy abroad, with a hurdy- 
gurdy and a monkey, turning over head and heels, 
or clattering and pirouetting in a pair of wooden 



PKIOB, GAY, AND POPE. 189 

shoes, yet always with a look of love and appeal in 
his bright eyes, and a smile that asks and wins 
affection and protection. Happy they who have that 
sweet gift of nature ! It was this which made the 
great folks and court ladies free and friendly with 
John Gay — which made Pope and Arbuthnot love 
him — which melted the savage heart of Swift when 
he thought of him — and drove away, for a moment 
or two, the dark frenzies which obscured the lonely 
tyrant's brain, as he heard Gay's voice with its simple 
melody and artless ringing laughter. 

What used to be said about Rubini, quHl avait des 
larmes dans la voix, may be said of Gay, 1 and of one 
other humorist of whom we shall have to speak. In 
almost every ballad of his, however slight, 2 in the 

1 " Gay, like Goldsmith, had a musical talent. ' He could play 
on the flute,' says Malone, ' and was, therefore, enabled to adapt 
so happily some of the airs in the Beggar's Opera.' " — Notes to 
Spence. 

2 " T'was when the seas were roaring 

With hollow blasts of wind, 
A damsel lay deploring 

All on a rock reclined. 
Wide o'er the foaming billows 

She cast a wistful look ; 
Her head was crown'd with willows 

That trembled o'er the brook. 

'* * Twelve months are gone and over, 
And nine long tedious days ; 
Why didst thou, venturous lover- 
Why didst thou trust the seas? 



190 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

" Beggar's Opera M1 and in its wearisome continuation 
(where the verses are to the full as pretty as in the 

Cease, cease, thou cruel Ocean, 

And let my lover rest ; 
Ah ! what's thy troubled motion 

To that within my breast ? 

" ' The merchant robb'd of pleasure, 

Sees tempests in despair ; 
But what's the loss of treasure 

To losing of my dear ? 
Should you some coast be laid on, 

Where gold and diamonds grow, 
You'd find a richer maiden, 

But none that loves you so. 

" ' How can they say that Nature 

Has nothing made in vain ; 
Why, then, beneath the water 

Should hideous rocks remain? 
No eyes the rocks discover 

That lurk beneath the deep, 
To wreck the wandering lover, 

And leave the maid to weep? ' 

" All melancholy lying, 

Thus wail'd she for her dear; 
Kepay'd each blast with sighing, 

Each billow with a tear; 
When o'er the white wave stooping, 

His floating corpse she spy'd; 
Then, like a lily drooping, 

She bow'd her head, and died." 

A Ballad, from the " What-d'i/e call it." 

"What can be prettier than Gay's ballad, or, rather, Swift's 
Arbuthnot's, Pope's, and Gay's, in the ' What d'ye call it,' ' 'Twas 
when the seas were roaring? ' I have been well informed, that 
they all contributed." — Cowper to Unwin, 1783. 

1 iC Dr. Swift had been observing once to Mr. Gay, what an odd 



PPJOR, GAY, AND POPE. 191 

first piece, however), there is a peculiar, hinted, 
pathetic sweetness and melody. It charms and melts 
you. It 's indefinable, but it exists ; and is the pro- 
perty of John Gay's and Oliver Goldsmith's best 
verse, as fragrance is of a violet, or freshness of a 
rose. 

Let me read a piece from one of his letters, which 
is so famous that most people here are no doubt 
familiar with it, but so delightful that it is always 
pleasant to hear :- — 

" I have just passed part of this summer at an old romantic 
seat of my Lord Harcourt's, which he lent me. It overlooks a 
common hayfield, where, under the shade of a haycock, sat two 



pretty sort of thing a Newgate Pastoral might make. Gay was 
inclined to try at such a thing for some time, but afterwards 
thought it would be better to write a comedy on the same plan. 
This was what gave rise to the 'Beggar's Opera.' He began on 
it, and when he first mentioned it to Swift, the Doctor did not 
much like the project. As he carried it on, he showed what he 
wrote to both of us; and we now and then gave a correction, or a 
word or two of advice; but it was wholly of his own writing. 
When it was done, neither of us thought it would succeed. We 
showed it to Congreve, who, after reading it over, said, ' It would 
either take greatly, or be damned confoundedly.' We were all at 
the first night of it, in great uncertainty of the event, till we were 
very much encouraged by overhearing the Duke of Argyle, who 
sat in the next box to us, say, 'It will do — it must do! — I see it 
in the eyes of them! ' This was a good while before the first act 
was over, and so gave us ease soon; for the Duke [besides his own 
good taste] has a more particular research than any one now 
living in discovering the taste of the public. He was quite right 
in this as usual; the good nature of the audience appeared stronger 
and stronger every act, and ended in a clamour of applause."—. 
Pope (Spence's Anecdotes), 



192 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

lovers — as constant as ever were found in romance — beneath a 
spreading bush. The name of the one (let it sound as it will) was 
John Hewet; of the other Sarah Drew. John was a well-set 
man, about five and twenty; Sarah, a brave woman of eighteen. 
John had for several months borne the labour of the day in the 
same field with Sarah; when she milked, it was his morning and 
evening charge to bring the cows to her pails. Their love was 
the talk, but not the scandal, of the whole neighbourhood, for all 
they aimed at was the blameless possession of each other in 
marriage. It was but this very morning that he had obtained her 
parents' consent, and it was but till the next week that they were 
to wait to be happy. Perhaps this very day, in the intervals of 
their work, they were talking of their wedding clothes ; and John 
was now matching several kinds of poppies and field-flowers, to 
make her a present of knots for the day. While they were thus 
employed (it was on the last of July), a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning arose, that drove the labourers to what shelter the 
trees or hedges afforded. Sarah, frightened and out of breath, 
sunk on a haycock ; and John (who never separated from her, sat 
by her side, having raked two or three heaps together, to secure 
her. Immediately, there was heard so loud a crash, as if heaven 
had burst asunder. The labourers, all solicitous for each other's 
safety, called to one another: those that were nearest our lovers, 
hearing no answer, stepped to the place where they lay: they first 
saw a little smoke, and after, this faithful pair — John, with one 
arm about his Sarah's neck, and the other held over her face, as 
if to screen her from the lightning. They were struck dead, and 
already grown stiff and cold in this tender posture. There was 
no mark or discolouring on their bodies — only that Sarah's eye- 
brow was a little singed, and a small spot between her breasts. 
They were buried the next day in one grave ! " 

And the proof that this description is delightful 
and beautiful is, that the great Mr. Pope admired 
it so much that he thought proper to steal it 
and to send it off to a certain lady and wit, with 
whom he pretended to be in love in those days — my 
Lord Duke of Kingston's daughter, and married to 



PIUOE, GAY, AND POPE. 193 

Mr. Wortley Montagu, then his Majesty's Ambassador 
at Constantinople. 

We are now come to the greatest name on our 
list — the highest among the poets, the highest among 
the English wits and humourists with whom we have 
to rank him. If the author of the " Dunciad " be 
not a humourist, if the poet of the " Rape of the 
Lock " be not a wit, who deserves to be called so ? 
Besides that brilliant genius and immense fame, for 
both of which we should respect him, men of letters 
should admire him as being the greatest literary 
artist that England has seen. He polished, he 
refined, he thought; he took thoughts from other 
works to adorn and complete his own ; borrowing an 
idea or a cadence from another poet as he would a 
figure or a simile from a flower, or a river, stream, 
or any object which struck him in his walk, or con- 
templation of Nature. He began to imitate at an 
early age ; * and taught himself to write by copying 

1 " Waller, Spenser, and Diyden, were Mr. Pope's great favour- 
ites, in the order they are named in his first reading, till he was 
about twelve years old." — Pope (Spence's Anecdotes). 

"Mr. Pope's father (who was an honest merchant, and dealt 
in Hollands, wholesale) was no poet, but he used to set him to 
make English verses when very young. He was pretty difficult 
in being pleased; and used often to send him back to new turn 
them. ' These are not good rhimes;' for that was my husband's 
word for verses. — Pope's Mother (Spence). 

" I wrote things, I'm ashamed to say how soon. Part of an 
Epic Poem when about twelve. The scene of it lay at Rhodes, 



194 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

printed books. Then he passed into the hands of the 
priests, and from his first clerical master, who came 
to him when he was eight years old, he went to a 
school at Twyford, and another school at Hyde Park, 
at which places he unlearned all that he had got 
from his first instructor. At twelve years old, he 
went with his father into Windsor Forest, and there 
learned for a few months under a fourth priest. 
" And this was all the teaching I ever had," he said, 
" and God knows it extended a very little way." 

When he had done with his priests he took to 
reading by himself, for which he had a very great 
eagerness and enthusiasm, especially for poetry. He 
learned versification from Dryden, he said. In his 
youthful poem of " Alcander," he imitated every 



and some of the neighbouring islands ; and the poem opened under 
water with a description of the Court of Neptune." — Pope (Ibid). 
" His perpetual application (after he set to study, of himself) 
reduced him in four years' time to so had a state of health, that, 
after trying physicians for a good while in vain, he resolved to 
give way to his distemper; and sat down calmly in a full expect- 
ation of death in a short time. Under this thought, he wrote 
letters to take a last farewell of some of his more particular friends, 
and, among the rest, one to the Abbe Southcote. The Abbe was 
extremely concerned, both for his very ill state of health and the 
resolution he said he had taken. He thought there might yet 
be hope, and went immediately to Dr. Kadcliffe, with whom he 
was well acquainted, told him Mr. Pope's case, got full directions 
from him, and carried them down to Pope in Windsor Porest. 
The chief thing the Doctor ordered him was to apply less, and 
to ride every day. The following his advice soon restored him 
to his health."— Pope (Ibid). 



PRIOR, GAT, AND POPE. 195 

poet, Cowley, Milton, Spenser, Statius, Horner, 
Yirgil. In a few years he had dipped into a great 
number of the English, French, Italian, Latin, and 
Greek poets, r This I did," he says, " without any 
design, except to 'amuse myself; and got the lan- 
guages by hunting after the stories in the several 
poets I read, rather than read the books to get the 
languages. I followed everywhere as my fancy led 
me, and was like a boy gathering flowers in the fields 
and woods, just as they fell in his way. These five 
or six years I looked upon as the happiest in my 
life." Is not here a beautiful holiday picture? The 
"orest and the fairy story-book — the boy spelling 
Ariosto or Yirgil under the trees, battling with the 
Cid for the love of Chimene, or dreaming of Armida's 
garden — peace and sunshine round about — the 
kindest love and tenderness waiting for him at his 
quiet home yonder — and Genius throbbing in his 
young heart, and whispering to him, i( You shall be 
great ; you shall be famous ; you, too, shall love and 
sing; you will sing her so nobly that some kind 
heart shall forget you are weak and ill-formed. 
Every poet had a love. Fate must give one to you 
too," — and day by day he walks the forest, very 
likely looking out for that charmer. "They were 
the happiest days of his life," he says, when he was 
only dreaming of his fame : when he had gained 
that mistress she was no consoler. 

O 2 



196 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

That charmer made lier appearance, it would 
seem, about the year 1705, when Pope was seven- 
teen. Letters of his are extant, addressed to a 

certain Lady M , whom the youth courted, and 

to whom he expressed his ardour in language, to say 
no worse of it, that is entirely pert, odious, and 
affected. He imitated love compositions as he had 
been imitating love poems just before — it was a sham 
mistress he courted, and a sham passion, expressed 
as became it. These unlucky letters found their way 
into print years afterwards, and were sold to the 
congenial Mr. Curll. If any of my hearers, as I 
hope they may, should take a fancy to look at Pope's 
correspondence, let them pass over that first part of 
it; over, perhaps, almost all Pope's letters to women; 
in which there is a tone of not pleasant gallantry, 
and, amidst a profusion of compliments and polite- 
nesses, a something which makes one distrust the little 
pert, prurient bard. There is very little indeed to 
say about his loves, and that little not edifying. He 
wrote flames and raptures and elaborate verse and 
prose for Lady Mary "Wortley Montagu; but that 
passion probably came to a climax in an impertinence 
and was extinguished by a box on the ear, or some 
such rebuff, and he began on a sudden to hate her 
with a fervour much more genuine than that of his 
love had been. It was a feeble, puny grimace of 
love, and paltering with passion. After Mr. Pope 



PKIOR, GAT, AND POPE. 197 

had sent off one of his fine compositions to Lady 
Mary, he made a second draft from the rough copy, 
and favoured some other friend with it. He was so 
charmed with the letter of Gay's, that I have just 
quoted, that he had copied that and amended it, and 
sent it to Lady M ary as his own. A gentleman wdio 
writes letters a deux fins, and after having poured 
out his heart to the beloved, serves up the same dish 
rechauffe to a friend, is not very much in earnest 
about his loves, however much he may be in his 
piques and vanities when his impertinence gets 
its due. 

But, save that unlucky part of the Pope Corre- 
spondence, I do not know, in the range of our 
literature, volumes more delightful. 1 You live in 



1 MR. POPE TO THE REV. MR. BROOME, PTJLHAM, NORFOLK. 

"Aug. 29th, 1730. 
"Dear Sir,— 
- "I intended to write to you on this melancholy subject, the 
death of Mr. Featon, before yours came, but stayed to have 
informed myself and you of the circumstances of it. All I hear 
is, that he felt a gradual decay, though so early in life, and was 
declining for five or six months. It was not, as I apprehended, 
the gout in his stomach, but, I believe, rather a complication first 
of gross humours, as he was naturally corpulent, not discharging 
themselves as he used no sort of exercise. No man better bore 
the approaches of his dissolution (as I am told), or with less 
ostentation yielded up his being. The great modesty which you 
know was natural to him, and the great contempt he had for all 
sorts of vanity and parade, never appeared more than in his last 
moments : he had a conscious satisfaction (no doubt) in acting 
right, in feeling himself honest, true, and unpretending to more 



198 ENGLISH HUMOTJBISTS. 

tliem in the finest company in the world. A little 
stately, perhaps; a little apprete and conscious that 

than his own. So he died as he lived, with that secret, yet 
sufficient contentment. 

" As to any papers left behind him, I dare say they can be but 
few ; for this reason, he never wrote out of vanity, or thought 
much of the applause of men. I know an instance when he did 
his utmost to conceal his own merit that way ; and if we join to 
this his natural love of ease, I fancy we must expect little of this 
sort : at least, I have heard of none, except some few further re- 
marks on "Waller (which his cautious integrity made him leave an 
order to be given to Mr. Tonson), and perhaps, though it is many 
years since I saw it, a translation of the first book of ' Oppian.' He 
had begun a tragedy of Dion, but made small progress in it. 

"As to his other affairs, he died poor but honest, leaving no 
debts or legacies, except of a few pounds to Mr. Trumball and my 
lady, in token of respect, gratefulness, and mutual esteem. 

" I shall, with pleasure, take upon me to draw this amiable, 
quiet, deserving, unpretending, Christian, unphilosophical cha- 
racter in his epitaph. There truth may be spoken in a few 
words ; as for flourish, and oratory, and poetry, I leave them to 
younger and more lively writers, such as love writing for writing 
sake, and would rather show their own fine parts than report the 
valuable ones of any other man. So the elegy I renounce. 

" I condole with you from my heart on the loss of so worthy a 
man, and a friend to us both 

" Adieu ; let us love his memory, and profit by his example. 
Am very sincerely, dear sir, 

" Your affectionate and real servant." 

TO THE EARL OF BURLINGTON. 

"August, 1714. 
"My Lord, 

" If your mare could speak she would give you an account 
of what extraordinary company she had on the road, which, since 
she cannot do, I will. 

u It was the enterprising Mr. Lintot, the redoubtable rival of 
Mr. Tonson, who, mounted on a stone-horse, overtook me in 
Windsor Forest. He said he heard I designed for Oxford, the seat 



PKIOK, GAY, AND POPE. 199 

they are speaking to whole generations who are 
listening; but in the tone of their voices — pitched, 



of the Muses, and would, as my bookseller, by all means accom- 
pany me thither. 

"I asked him where he got his horse ? He answered he got it 
of his publisher ; ' for that rogue, my printer (said he), dis- 
appointed me. T hoped to put him in good humour by a treat 
at the tavern of a brown fricassee of rabbits, which cost ten 
shillings, with two quarts of wine, besides my conversation. I 
thought myself cock-sure of his horse, which he readily promised 
me, but said that Mr. Tonson had just such another design of 
going to Cambridge, expecting there the copy of a new kind of 
Horace from Dr. ; and if Mr. Tonson went, he was pre- 
engaged to attend him, being to have the printing of the said 
copy. So, in short, I borrowed this stone-horse of my publisher, 
which he had of Mr. Oldmixon for a debt. He lent me, too, the 
pretty boy you see after me. He was a smutty dog yesterday, 
and cost me more than two hours to wash the ink off his face ; 
but the devil is a fair-conditioned devil, and very forward in his 
catechism. If you have any more bags he shall carry them.' 

" I thought Mr. Lintot's civility not to be neglected, so gave the 
boy a small bag containing three shirts and an Elzevir Virgil, 
and, mounting in an instant, proceeded on the road, with my man 
before, my courteous stationer beside, and the aforesaid devil 
behind. 

" Mr. Lintot began in this manner : 'Now, damn them ! What 
if they should put it into the newspaper how you and I went 
together to Oxford ? What would I care ? If I should go down 
into Sussex they would say I was gone to the Speaker ; but what 
of that ? If my son were but big enough to go on with the 
business, by G — d, I would keep as good company as old Jacob.' 

" Hereupon, I inquired of his son. ' The lad (says he) has fine 
parts, but is somewhat sickly, much as you are. I spare for 
nothing in his education at Westminster. Pray, don't you think 
Westminster to be the best school in England ? Most of the late 
Ministry came out of it ; so did many of this Ministry. I hope 
the boy will make his fortune.' 

** ' Don't you design to let him pass a year at Oxford ? ' 'To 



200 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

as no doubt they are, beyond the mere conversation 
key — in the expression of their thoughts, their 



what purpose ? (said he.) The Universities do hut make pedants, 
and I intend to breed him a man of business.' 

"As Mr. Lintot was talking I observed he sat uneasy on his 
saddle, for which I expressed some solicitude. ' Nothing (says 
he.) I can bear it well enough ; but, since we have the day 
before us, mefhinks it would be very pleasant for you to rest 
awhile under the woods.' When we were alighted, ' See, here, 
what a mighty pretty Horace I have in my pocket ! What, if you 
amused yourself in turning an ode till we mount again ? Lord ! 
if you pleased. What a clever miscellany might you make at 
leisure hours ! ' ' Perhaps I may,' said I, ' if we ride on ; the 
motion is an aid to my fancy ; a round trot very much awakens 
my spirits ; then jog on apace, and I'll think as hard as I can.' 

" Silence ensued for a full hour ; after which Mr. Lintot lugged 
the reins, stopped short, and broke out,' ' Well, sir, how far have 
you gone ? ' I answered, seven miles. ' Z — ds, sir,' said Lintot, 
' I thought you had done seven stanzas. Oldsworth, in a ramble 
round Wimbledon-hill, would translate a whole ode in half this 
time. I'll say that for Oldsworth [though I lost by his Timothy's] 
he translates an ode of Horace the quickest of any man in 
England. I remember Dr. King would write verses in a tavern, 
three hours after he could not speak : and there is Sir Richard, 
in that rumbling old chariot of his, between Fleet-ditch and St. 
Giles's pound, shall make you half a Job.' 

" ' Pray, Mr. Lintot,' (said I) ' now you talk of translators, what 
is your method of managing them ? ' Sir, [replied he] ' these are 
the saddest pack of rogues in the world : in a hungry fit, they'll 
swear they understand all the languages in the universe. I have 
known one of them take down a Greek book upon my counter, 
and cry, " Ah, this is Hebrew," and must read it from the latter 
end. By G — d, I can never be sure in these fellows, for I neither 
understand Greek, Latin, French, nor Italian myself. But this 
is my way ; I agree with them for ten shillings per sheet, with a 
proviso that I will have their doings corrected with whom I 
please ; so by one or the other they are led at last to the true 
sense of an author ; my judgment giving the negative to all my 



PMOK, GAY, AND POPE. 201 

various views and natures, there is something gene- 
rous, and cheering, and ennobling. You are in the 



translators.' ' Then how are you sure these correctors may not 
impose upon you ? y ' Why, I get any civil gentleman (especially 
any Scotchman) that comes into my shop, to read the original to 
me in English ; by this I know whether my first translator be 
deficient, and whether my corrector merits his money or not. 

" 'I'll tell you what happened to me last month. I bargained 

with S for a new version of " Lucretius," to publish against 

Tonson's, agreeing to pay the author so many shillings at his 
producing so many lines. He made a great progress in a very 
short time, and I gave it to the corrector to compare with the 
Latin; but he went directly to Creech's translation, and found it 
the same, word for word, all but the first page. Now, what d'ye 
think I did ? I arrested the translator for a cheat ; nay, and I 
stopped the corrector's pay, too, upon the proof that he had made 
use of Creech instead of the original.' 

" * Pray tell me next how you deal with the critics ? ' ' Sir,' 
said he, ' nothing more easy. I can silence the most formidable 
of them : the rich ones for a sheet a-piece of the blotted manu- 
script, which cost me nothing ; they '11 go about with it to their 
acquaintance, and pretend they had it from the author, who 
submitted it to their correction : this has given some of them 
such an air, that in time they come to be consulted with and 
dedicated to as the tip-top critics of the town. — As for the poor 
critics, I '11 give you one instance of my management, by which 
you may guess the rest : a lean man, that looked like a very good 
scholar, came to me, t'other day ; he turned over your Homer, 
shook his head, shrugged up his shoulders, and pish'd at every 
line of it. " One would wonder," (says he) " at the strange pre- 
sumption of some men ; Homer is no such easy task as every 
stripling, every versifier 5 ' — he was going on, when my wife called to 
dinner; " Sir," said I, " will you please to eat a piece of beef with 
me?" "Mr. Lintot," said he, "I am very sorry you should be at the 
expense of this great book, I am really concerned on your account." 
" Sir, I am much obliged to you : if you can dine upon a piece of 
beef together with a slice of pudding ? " — " Mr. Lintot, I do not 
say but Mr. Pope, if he would condescend to advise with men of 



202 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

society of men who have filled the greatest parts in the 
world's story — you are with St. John the statesman ; 

learning." — " Sir, the pudding is upon the table, if you please to 
go in." My critic complies ; he comes to a taste of your poetry, 
and tells me in the same breath, that the book is commendable, 
and the poetry excellent. 

" ' Now, sir,' continued Mr. Lintot, ' in return to the frankness 
I have shown, pray tell me, is it the opinion of your friends at 
Court that my Lord Lansdowne will be brought to the bar or not ?' 
I told him I heard he would not, and I hoped it, my Lord being 
one I had particular obligations to. — ' That may be,' replied Mr. 
Lintot ; ' but by G — if be is not, I shall lose the printing of a 
yery good trial.' 

" These, my Lord, are a few traits with which you discern the 
genius of Mr. Lintot, which I have chosen for the subject of a 
letter. I dropped him as soon as I got to Oxford, and paid a visit 

to my Lord Carleton, at Middleton 

" I am," &c. 

DE. SWIFT TO ME. POPE. 

"Sept. 29, 1725. 
" I am now returning to the noble scene of Dublin — into the 
grand monde — for fear of burying my parts ; to signalize myself 
among curates and vicars, and correct all corruptions crept in 
relating to the weight of bread-and-butter through those dominions 
where I govern. I have employed my time (besides ditching) 
in finishing, correcting, amending, and transcribing my travels 
[Gulliver's], in four parts complete, newly augmented, and in- 
tended for the press when the world shall deserve them, or rather, 
when a printer shall be found brave enough to venture his ears. 
I like the scheme of our meeting after distresses and dissensions ; 
but the chief end I propose to myself in all my labours is to vex 
the world rather than divert it; and if I could compass that 
design without hurting my own person and fortune, I would be 
the most indefatigable writer you have ever seen, without reading. 
I am exceedingly pleased that you have done with translations ; 
Lord Treasurer Oxford often lamented that a rascally world 
should lay you under a necessity of misemploying your genius 



PRIOK, (JAY, AND POPE. 203 

Peterborough the conqueror ; Swift, the greatest wit 
of all times; Gay, the kindliest laugher — it is a 

for so long a time ; but since you will now be so much better 
employed, when you think of the world, give it one lash the more 
at my request. I I have ever hated all societies, professions, and 
communities ; and all my love is towards individuals — for instance, 
I hate the tribe of lawyers, but I love Councillor Such-a-one and 
Judge Such-a-one : it is so with physicians (I will not speak of 
my own trade), soldiers, Englisb, Scotch, French, and the rest. 
But principally I hate and detest that animal called man — although 
I heartily love John, Peter, Thomas, and so on. 

. ..." I have got materials towards a treatise proving the 
falsity of that definition animal rationale, and to show it should 

be only rationis capax The matter is so clear that it will 

admit of no dispute — nay, I will hold a hundred pounds that you 
and I agree in the point 

"Dr. Lewis sent me an account of Dr. Arbuthnot's illness, 
which is a very sensible affliction to me, who, by living so long 
out of the world, have lost that hardness of heart contracted by 
years and general conversation. I am daily losing friends, and 
neither seeking nor getting others. Oh if the world had but a 
dozen of Arbuthnots in it, I would burn my ' Travels ! ' " 

MR. POPE TO Dlt. SWIPT. 

" October 15, 1725. 
"I am wonderfully pleased with the suddenness of your kind 
answer. It makes me hope you are coming towards us, and that 

you incline more and more to your old friends Here is one 

[Lord Bolingbroke] who was once a powerful planet, but has now 
(after long experience of all that comes of shining) learned to be 
content with returning to his first point without the thought or 
ambition of shining at all. Here is another [Edward, Earl of 
Oxford], who thinks one of the greatest glories of his father was 
to have distinguished and loved you, and who loves you here- 
ditarily. Here is Arbuthnot, recovered from the jaws of death, 
and more pleased with the hope of seeing you again than of 
reviewing a world, every part of which he has long despised but 
what is made up of a few men like yourself. .... 



204 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

privilege to sit in that company. ( Delightful and 
generous banquet! with a little faith and a little 
fancy any one of us here may enjoy it, and conjure 
up those great figures out of the past, and listen to 
their wit and wisdom. Mind that there is always 
a certain cachet about great men — they may be as 
mean on many points as you or I, but they carry 
their great air — they speak of common life more 
largely and generously than common men do — they 
regard the world with a manlier countenance, and 
see its real features more fairly than the timid 
shufflers who only dare to look up at life through 



" Our friend Gay is used as the friends of Tories are by Whigs 
— and generally by Tories too. Because he had humour, he was 
supposed to haye dealt with Dr. Swift, in like manner as when 
any one had learning formerly, he was thought to have dealt with 
the devil 

" Lord Bolingbroke had not the least harm by his fall ; I wish 
he had received no more by his other fall. But Lord Bolingbroke 
is the most improved mind since you saw him, that ever was 
improved without shifting into a new body, or being paullo minus 
ab angelis. (i have often imagined to myself, that if ever all of us 
meet again, after so many varieties and changes, after so much of' 
the old world and of the old man in each of us has been altered, 
that scarce a single thought of the one, any more than a single 
action of the other, remains just the same ; I have fancied, I say, 
that we should meet like the righteous in the millennium, quite at 
peace, divested of all our former passions, smiling at our past follies, 
and content to enjoy the kingdom of the just in tranquillity. 
****** 

" I designed to have left the following page for Dr. Arbuthnot to 
fill, but he is so touched with the period in yours to me, concerning 
him, that he intends to answer it by a whole letter." * * * 






rKIOE, GAY, AND POPE. 205 

blinkers, or to have an opinion when there is a 
crowd to back it. He who reads these noble 
records of a past age, salutes and reverences the 
great spirits who adorn it. You may go home 
now and talk with St. John ; you may take a 
volume from your library and listen to Swift and 
Pope. 

Might I give counsel to any young hearer, I would 
say to him, try to frequent the company of your 
betters. In books and life that is the most wholesome 
society ; learn to admire rightly ; the great pleasure 
of life is that. Note what the great men admired ; 
they admired great things: narrow spirits admire 
basely, and worship meanly. 1 know nothing in any 
story more gallant and cheering, than the love and 
friendship which this company of famous men bore 
towards one another. There never has been a society 
of men more friendly, as there never was one more 
illustrious. Who dares quarrel with Mr. Pope, great 
and famous himself, for liking the society of men 
great and famous ? and for liking them for the qua- 
lities which made them so ? A mere pretty fellow 
from White's could not have written the " Patriot 
King," and would very likely have despised little 
Mr. Pope, the decrepit Papist, whom the great St. 
John held to be one of the best and greatest of men : 
a mere nobleman of the Court could no more have 
won Barcelona, than he could have written Peter- 



206 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

borough's letters to Pope, 1 which are as witty as 
Congreve : a mere Irish Dean could not have written 



1 Of the Earl of Peterborough, Walpole says : — " He was one of 
those men of careless wit, and negligent grace, who scatter a 
thousand bons mots and idle verses, which we painful compilers 
gather and hoard, till the authors stare to find themselves authors. 
Such was this Lord, of an advantageous figure, and enterprising 
spirit ; as gallant as Amadis and as brave ; but a little more expe- 
ditious in his journeys ; for he is said to have seen more kings and 
more postilions than any man in Europe. . . . He was a man, 
as his friend said, who would neither live nor die like any other 
mortal." 

PROM THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH TO POPE. 

iC You must receive my letter with a just impartiality, and give 
grains of allowance for a gloomy or rainy day ; I sink grievously 
with the weather-glass, and am quite spiritless when oppressed 
with the thoughts of a birthday or a return. 

" Dutiful affection was bringing me to town, but undutiful 
laziness, and being much out of order keep me in the country : 
however, if alive, I must make my appearance at the birthday. . . 

" You seem to think it vexatious that I shall allow you but one 
woman at a time either to praise or love. If I dispute with you 
on this point, I doubt, every fairy will give a verdict against me. 
So, sir, with a Mahometan indulgence, I allow you pluralities, the 
favourite privileges of our church. 

" I find you don't mend upon correction ; again I tell you you 
must not think of women in a reasonable way ; you know we 
always make Goddesses of those we adore upon earth ; and do not 
all the; good men tell us we must lay aside reason in what relates 4~\f\ 
to the Deity ? 

. " I should have been glad of anything of Swift's. Pray 
when you write to him next, tell him I expect him with impatience, 
in a place as odd and as out of the way as himself. 

" Your's." 

Peterborough married Mrs. Anastasia Robinson, the celebrated 
singer. 



PKI0K, GAY, AND POPE. 207 

f€ Gulliver ;" and all these men loved Pope, and Pope 
loved all these men. To name his friends is to name 
the best men of his time. Addison had a senate ; 
Pope reverenced his equals. He spoke of Swift with 
respect and admiration always. His admiration for 
Bolingbroke was so great, that when some one said 
of his friend, " There is something in that great man 
which looks as if he was placed here by mistake," 
" Yes," Pope answered, " and when the comet 
appeared to us a month or two ago, I had sometimes 
an imagination that it might possibly be come to carry 
him home, as a coach comes to one's door for visitors." 
So these great spirits spoke of one another. Show 
me six of the dullest middle-aged gentlemen that 
ever dawdled round a club-table, so faithful and so 
friendly. 

We have said before that the chief wits of this 
time, with the exception of Congreve, were what we 
should now call men's men. They spent many hours 
of the four-and-twenty, a fourth part of each day 
nearly, in clubs and coffee-houses, where they dined, 
drank, and smoked. Wit and news went by word of 
mouth : a journal of 1710 contained the very smallest 
portion of one or the other. The chiefs spoke, the 
faithful habitues sat round ; strangers came to wonder 
and listen. Old Dryden had his head-quarters at 
Will's, in Russell-street, at the corner of Bow-street, 
at which place Pope saw him when he was twelve 
years old. The company used to assemble on the 



208 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

first floor — what was called the dining-room floor in 
those days — and sat at various tables smoking their 
pipes. It is recorded that the beaux of the day 
thought it a great honour to be allowed to take a 
pinch out of Dryden's snuff-box. When Addison 
began to reign, he with a certain crafty propriety— a 
policy let us call it — which belonged to his nature, 
set up his court, and appointed the officers of his royal 
house. His palace was Button's, opposite Will's. 1 A 
quiet opposition, a silent assertion of empire, distin- 
guished this great man. Addison's ministers were 
Budgell, Tickell, Phillips, Carey ; his master of the 
horse, honest Dick Steele, who was what Duroc was 
to Napoleon, or Hardy to Nelson ; the man who per- 
formed his master's bidding, and would have cheer- 
fully died in his quarrel. Addison lived with these 
people for seven or eight hours every day. The 
male society passed over their punch-bowls and 
tobacco-pipes about as much time as ladies of that 
age spent over Spadille and Manille. 



1 " Button had been a servant in the Countess of "Warwick's 
family, who, under the patronage of Addison, kept a coffee-house 
on the south side of Russell-street, about two doors from Covent 
Garden. Here it was that the wits of that time used to assemble. 
It is said that when Addison had suffered any vexation from the 
Countess, he withdrew the company from Button's house. 

" From the coffee-house he went again to a tavern, where he 
often sat late and drank too much wine." — Dr. Johnson. 

Will's coffee-house was on the west side of Bow- street, and 
" corner of Russell-street." See " Handbook of London." 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 209 

For a brief space, upon coming up to town, Pope 
formed part of King Joseph's court, and was his 
rather too eager and obsequious humble servant. 1 
Dick Steele, the editor of the " Tatler," Mr. Addison's 
man, and his own man too — a person of no little 
figure in the world of letters, patronised the young 
poet, and set him a task or two. Young Mr. Pope 
did the tasks very quickly and smartly (he had been 
at the feet quite as a boy of Wycherley's 2 decrepit 
reputation, and propped up for a year that doting old 
wit): he was anxious to be well with the men of 
letters, to get a footing and a recognition. He 
thought it an honour to be admitted into their com- 
pany ; to have the confidence of Mr. Addison's friend, 
Captain Steele. His eminent parts obtained for him 

1 " My acquaintance "with Mr. Addison commenced in 1712 : I 
liked him then as well as I liked any man, and was very fond of 
his conversation. It was very soon after that Mr. Addison advised 
me ' not to be content with the applause of half the nation.' He 
used to talk much and often to me, of moderation in parties : and 
used to blame his dear friend Steele for being too much of a party 
man. He encouraged me in my design of translating the ' Iliad,' 
which was begun that year, and finished in 1718." — Pope (Spence's 
Anecdotes.) 

" Addison had Budgell, and I think Phillips, in the house with 
him. — Gay, they would call one of my eleves. — They were angry 
with me for keeping so much with Dr. Swift, and some of the late 
ministry." — Pope (Spence's Anecdotes.") 

2 " TO MR. ALCOURT. 

"Jan. 21, 1715-16. 
" I know of nothing that will be so interesting to you at present 
as some circumstances of the last act of that eminent comic poet 



210 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the honour of heralding Addison's triumph of f Cato" 
with his admirable prologue, and heading the victo- 
rious procession as it were. Not content with this 
act of homage and admiration, he wanted to dis- 
tinguish himself by assaulting Addison's enemies, and 
attacked John Dennis with a prose lampoon, which 
highly offended his lofty patron. Mr. Steele was 
instructed to write to Mr. Dennis and inform him 



and our friend, Wycherley. He had often told me, and I doubt 
not he did all his acquaintance, that he would marry as soon as 
his life was despaired of. Accordingly, a few days before his 
death, he underwent the ceremony, and joined together those two 
sacraments which wise men say we should be the last to receive ; 
for, if you observe, matrimony is placed after extreme unction iu 
our catechism, as a kind of hint of the order of time in which 
they are to be taken. The old man then lay down, satisfied in the 
consciousness of having, by this one act, obliged a woman who (he 
was told) had merit, and shown an heroic resentment of the ill- 
usage of his next heir. Some hundred pounds which he had with 
the lady discharged his debts ; a jointure of 5007. a year made her 
a recompense ; and the nephew was left to comfort himself as well 
as he could with the miserable remains of a mortgaged estate. I 
saw our friend twice after this was done — less peevish in his sick- 
ness than he used to be in his health; neither much afraid of 
dying, nor (which in him had been more likely) much ashamed of 
marrying. The evening before he expired, he called his young 
wife to the bedside, and earnestly entreated her not to deny him 
one request — the last he should make. Upon her assurances ot 
consenting to it, he told her: ' My dear, it is only this — that you 
will never marry an old man again.' [ I cannot help remarking 
that sickness, which often destroys both wit and wisdom, yet sel- 
dom has power to remove that talent which we call humour. Mr. 
Wycherley showed his even in his last compliment; though I 
think his request a little hard, for why should he bar her from 
doubling her jointure on the same easy terms ? 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 211 

that Mr. Pope's pamphlet against him was written 
quite without Mr. Addison's approval. 1 Indeed, 
" The Narrative of Dr. Robert Norris on the 
phrenzy of J. D." is a vulgar and mean satire, and 
such a blow as the magnificent Addison could never 
desire to see any partisan of his strike in any lite- 
rary quarrel. Pope was closely allied with Swift 
when he wrote this pamphlet. It is so dirty that it 
has been printed in Swift's works, too. It bears the 
foul marks of the master hand. Swift admired and 
enjoyed with all his heart the prodigious genius 
of the young Papist lad out of Windsor Forest, 
who had never seen a university in his life, and 
came and conquered the Dons and the doctors with 
his wit. He applauded, and loved him, too, and 
protected him, and taught him mischief. I wish 

" So trivial as these circumstances are, I should not be displeased 
myself to know such trifles when they concern or characterize 
any eminent person. The wisest and wittiest of men are seldom 
wiser or wittier than others in these sober moments; at least, 
our friend ended much in the same character he had lived in ; 
and Horace's rule for play may as well be applied to him as a 
playwright: — 

" ' Servetur ad imum, 
Qualis ab incepto processerit et sibi constet.' 

"lam," &c. 

1 " Addison, who was no stranger to the world, probably saw 
the selfishness of Pope's friendship; and, resolving that he should 
have the consequences of his officiousness to himself, informed 
Dennis by Steele that he was sorry for the insult." — Johnson 
{Life of Addison}. 

P 2 



212 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Addison could have loved him better. The best 
satire that ever has been penned would never have 
been written then ; and one of the best characters 
the world ever knew would have been without a 
flaw. But he who had so few equals could not bear 
one, and Pope was more than that. When Pope, 
trying for himself, and soaring on his immortal 
young wings,, found that his, too, was a genius, 
which no pinion of that age could follow, he rose and 
left Addison's company, settling on his own eminence, 
and singing his own song. 

It was not possible that Pope should remain a 
retainer of Mr. Addison ; nor likely that after 
escaping from his vassalage and assuming an inde- 
pendent crown, the sovereign whose allegiance he 
quitted should view him amicably. 1 They did not 
do wrong to mislike each other. They but followed 
the impulse of nature, and the consequence of posi- 
tion. When Bernadotte became heir to a throne, the 



1 " While I was heated with what I had heard, I wrote a letter 
to Mr. Addison, to let him know ' that I was not unacquainted 
with this behaviour of his ; that if I was to speak of him severely 
in return for it, it should not be in such a dirty way ; that I 
should rather tell him himself fairly of his faults, and allow his 
good qualities ; and that it should be something in the following 
manner.' I then subjoined the first sketch of what has since 
been called my satire on Addis*on. He used me very civilly ever 
after; and never did me any injustice, that I know of, from that 
time to his death, which was about three years after." — Pope 
(Spcnce's Anecdotes'). 



PEIOK, GAY, AND POPE. 213 

Prince Royal of Sweden was naturally Napoleon's 
enemy. f f There are many passions and tempers of 
mankind,"' says Mr. Addison in the " Spectator," 
speaking a couple of years before their little dif- 
ferences between him and Mr. Pope took place, 
" which naturally dispose us to depress and vilify 
the merit of one rising in the esteem of mankind. 
All those who made their entrance into the world 
with the same advantages, and were once looked on 
as his equals are apt to think the fame of his merits 
a reflection on their own deserts. Those who were 
once his equals envy and defame him, because they 
now see him the superior ; and those who were once 
his superiors, because they look upon him as their 
equal." Did Mr. Addison, justly perhaps thinking 
that, as young Mr. Pope had not had the benefit of 
a university education, he couldn't know Greek, 
therefore he couldn't translate Homer, encourage his 
young friend Mr. Tickell, of Queen's, to translate 
that poet, and aid him with his own known scholar- 
ship and skill ? * It was natural that Mr. Addison 
should doubt of the learning of an amateur Grecian, 
should have a high opinion of Mr. Tickell, of 



1 " That Tickell should have been guilty of a villainy seems to 
us highly improbable ; that Addison should have been guilty of a 
villainy seems to us highly improbable; but that these two, men 
should have conspired together to commit a villainy, seems, to 
us, improbable in a tenfold degree." — Macaulay. 



214 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

Queen's, and should help that ingenious young 
man. It was natural, on the other hand, that 
Mr. Pope and Mr. Pope's friends should believe 
that this counter-translation, suddenly advertised 
and so long written, though Tickell's college 
friends had never heard of it — though, when 
Pope first wrote to Addison regarding his scheme, 
Mr. Addison knew nothing of the similar pro- 
ject of Tickell, of Queen's — it was natural that 
Mr. Pope and his friends, having interests, pas- 
sions, and prejudices of their own, should believe 
that Tickell's translation was but an act of oppo- 
sition against Pope, and that they should call Mr. 
Tickell's emulation Mr. Addison's envy — if envy it 
were. 

" And were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles and fair fame imspires, 
Blest with each talent and eacli art to please, 
And horn to write, converse, and live with ease ; 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
Bear like the Turk no brother near the throne ; 
View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate, for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 
Alike reserved to blame as to commend, 
A timorous foe and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; 
Like Cato give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 



PKIOR, GAT, AND POPE. 215 

While wits and templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a ioolish face of praise ; 
Who but must laugh if such a man there be, 
Who would not weep if Atticus were he ?" 

(i I sent the verses to Mr. Addison/' said Pope, 
" and he used me very civilly ever after." No 
wonder he did. It was shame very likely more 
than fear that silenced him. Johnson recounts an 
interview between Pope and Addison after their 
quarrel, in which Pope was angry, and Addison 
tried to be contemptuous and calm. Such a weapon 
as Pope's must have pierced any scorn. It flashes 
for ever, and quivers in Addison's memory. His 
great figure looks out on us from the past — stainless 
but for that — pale, calm, and beautiful : it bleeds 
from that black wound. He should be drawn, like 
St. Sebastian, with that arrow in his side. As he 
sent to Gay and asked his pardon, as he bade his 
stepson come and see his death, be sure he had 
forgiven Pope, when he made ready to show how a 
Christian could die. 

Pope then formed part of the Addisonian court 
for a short time, and describes himself in his letters 
as sitting with that coterie until two o'clock in the 
morning over punch and Burgundy amidst the fumes 
of tobacco. To use an expression of the present 
day, the (< pace " of those viveurs of the former age 
was awful. Peterborough lived into the very jaws 
of death ; Godolphin laboured all day and gambled at 



216 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

night ; Bolingbroke, 1 writing to Swift, from Dawley, 
in his retirement, dating his letter at six o'clock in 
the morning, and rising, as he says, refreshed, serene, 
and calm, calls to mind the time of his London life ; 
when about that hour he used to be going to bed, 
surfeited with pleasure, and jaded with business ; his 
head often full of schemes, and his heart as often 
full of anxiety. It was too hard, too coarse a life 
for the sensitive, sickly Pope. He was the only wit 
of the day, a friend writes to me, who wasn't fat. 2 
Swift was fat ; Addison was fat ; Steele was fat ; 
Gay and Thomson were preposterously fat — all that 
fuddling and punch-drinking, that club and coffee- 

1 LORD BOLINGBROKE TO THE THREE YAHOOS OF TWICKENHAM. 

"July 23, 1726. 
" Jonathan, Alexander, John, most excellent Triumvirs 
of Parnassus, — 

" Though you are probably very indifferent where I am, 
or what I am doing, yet I resolve to believe the contrary. I 
persuade myself that you have sent at least fifteen times within 
this fortnight to Dawley farm, and that you are extremely mortified 
at my long silence. To relieve you, therefore, from this great 
anxiety of mind, I can do no less than write a few lines to you ; 
and I please myself beforehand with the vast pleasure which this 
epistle must needs give you. That I may add to this pleasure, 
and give further proofs of my beneficent temper, I will likewise 
inform you, that I shall be in your neighbourhood again, by 
the end of next week : by which time I hope that Jonathan's 
imagination of business will be succeeded by some imagination 
more becoming a professor of that divine science, la bagatelle. 
Adieu. Jonathan, Alexander, John, mirth be with you !" 

2 Prior must be excepted from this observation. " He was lank 
and lean." 



PKIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 217 

house boozing, shortened the lives and enlarged the 
waistcoats of the men of that age. \ Pope withdrew 
in a great measure from this boisterous London 
company, and being put into an independence by 
the gallant exertions of Swift 1 and his private friends, 
and by the enthusiastic national admiration which 
justly rewarded his great achievement of the Iliad, 
purchased that famous villa of Twickenham which 
his song and life celebrated ; duteously bringing his 
old parents to live and die there, entertaining his 
friends there, and making occasional visits to London 
in his little chariot, in which Atterbury compared him 
to " Homer in a nutshell." 

" Mr. Dryden was not a genteel man," Pope 
quaintly said to Spence, speaking of the manner and 
habits of the famous old patriarch of Will's. With 
regard to Pope's own manners, we have the best con- 
temporary authority that they were singularly refined 
and polished. With his extraordinary sensibility, 
with his known tastes, with his delicate frame, with 
his power and dread of ridicule, Pope could have 
been no other than what we call a highly-bred per- 



1 Swift exerted himself very much in promoting the " Iliad " 
subscription; and also introduced Pope to Harley and Bolingbroke. 
— Pope realized by the "Iliad" upwards of 5,000/., which he laid 
out partly in annuities, and partly in the purchase of his famous 
villa. Johnson remarks that " it would be hard to find a man so 
well entitled to notice by his wit, that ever delighted so much in 
talking of his money." 



-218 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

son. 1 His closest friends, with the exception of Swift, 
were among the delights and ornaments of the polished 
society of their age. Garth/ the accomplished and 
benevolent, whom Steele has described so charmingly, 
of whom Codrington said that his character was " all 
beauty," and whom Pope himself called the best of 
Christians without knowing it; Arbuthnot, 3 one of 

1 " His (Pope's) voice in common conversation was so naturally 
musical, that I remember honest Tom Southerne used always to 
call him * the little nightingale.' " — Orrery. 

2 Garth, whom Dryden calls "generous as his Muse," was a 
Yorkshireman. He graduated at Cambridge, and was made M.D. 
in 1691. He soon distinguished himself in his profession, by 
his poem of the "Dispensary," and in society, and pronounced 
Dryden's funeral oration. He was a strict Whig, a notable mem- 
ber of the Kit-Kat and a friendly, convivial, able man. He was 
knighted by George I., with the Duke of Marlborough's sword. 
He died in 1718. 

3 " Arbuthnot was the son of an episcopal clergyman in Scot- 
land, and belonged to an ancient and distinguished Scotch family. 
He was educated at Aberdeen ; and, coming up to London — 
according to a Scotch practice often enough alluded to — to make 
his fortune — first made bimself known by ' an examination of Dr. 
Woodward's account of the Deluge.' He became physician, suc- 
cessively to Prince George of Denmark and to Queen Anne. He 
is usually allowed to have been the most learned, as well as one of 
the most witty and humorous members of the Scriblerus Club. 
The opinion entertained of him by the humourists of the day is 
abundantly evidenced in their correspondence. When he found 
himself in his last illness, he wrote thus, from his retreat at 
Hampstead, to Swift : 

" Hampstead, Oct. 4, 1734. 
" My Dear and Worthy Friend, — 

" You have no reason to put me among the rest of your 
forgetful friends, for I wrote two long letters to you, to which I 
never received one word of answer. The first was about your 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 219 

the wisest, wittiest, most accomplished, gentlest of 
mankind; Bolingbroke, the Alcibiades of his age; 

health ; the last I sent a great while ago, by one De la Mar. 
I can assure you with great truth that none of your friends or 
acquaintance has a more warm heart towards you than myself. I 
am going out of this troublesome world, and you, among the rest 
of my friends, shall have my last prayers and good wishes. 

. . . " I came out to this place so reduced by a dropsy and 
an asthma, that I could neither sleep, breathe, eat, nor move. I 
most earnestly desired and begged of God that he would take me. 
Contrary to my expectation, upon venturing to ride (which I had 
forborne for some years), I recovered my strength to a pretty con- 
siderable degree, slept, and had my stomach again. . . . What 
I did, I can assure you was not for life, but ease ; for I am at pre- 
sent in the case of a man that was almost in harbour, and then 
blown back to sea— -who has a reasonable hope of going to a good 
place, and an absolute certainty of leaving a very bad one. Not 
that I have any particular disgust at the world ; for I have as 
great comfort in my own family and from the kindness of my 
friends as any man ; but the world, in the main, displeases me, 
and I have too true a presentiment of calamities that are to befal 
my country. However, if I should have the happiness to see you 
before I die, you will find that I enjoy the comforts of life 
with my usual cheerfulness. I cannot imagine why you are 
frightened from a journey to England : the reasons you assign are 
not sufficient — the journey I am sure would do you good. In 
general, I recommend riding, of which I have always had a good 
opinion, and can now confirm it from my own experience. 

" My family give you their love and service. The great loss I 
sustained in one of them gave me my first shock, and the trouble 
I have with the rest to bring them to a right temper to bear the 
loss of a father who loves them, and whom they love, is really a 
most sensible affliction to me. I am afraid, my dear friend, we 
shall never see one another more in this world. I shall, to the last 
moment, preserve my love and esteem for you, being well assured 
you will never leave the paths of virtue and honour ; for all that 
is in this world is not worth the least deviation from the way. It 
will be great pleasure to me to hear from you sometimes j for none 



220 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the generous Oxford ; the magnificent, the witty, the 
famous, and chivalrous Peterborough : these were the 
fast and faithful friends of Pope, the most brilliant 
company of friends, let us repeat, that the world has 
ever seen. The favourite recreation of his leisure 
hours was the society of painters, whose art he prac- 
tised. In his correspondence are letters between him 
and Jervas, whose pupil he loved to be — Richardson, 
a celebrated artist of his time, and who painted for 
him a portrait of his old mother, and for whose picture 
he asked and thanked Jervas in one of the most 
delightful letters that ever was penned, 1 — and the 

are with more sincerity than I am, my dear friend, your most 
faithful friend and humble servant." 

" Arbuthnot," Johnson says, " was a man of great compre- 
hension, skilful in his profession, versed in the sciences, acquainted 
with ancient literature, and able to animate his mass of knowledge 
by a bright and active imagination ; a scholar with great brilliance 
of wit ; a wit who in the crowd of life, retained and discovered a 
noble ardour of religious zeal." 

Dugald Stewart has testified to Arbuthnot's ability in a depart- 
ment of which he was particularly qualified to judge : " Let me 
add, that, in the list of philosophical reformers, the authors of 
' Martinus Scriblerus ' ought not to be overlooked. Their happy 
ridicule of the scholastic logic and metaphysics is universally 
known ; but few are aware of the acuteness and sagacity displayed 
in their allusions to some of tbe most vulnerable passages in 
Locke's Essay. In this part of the work it is commonly under- 
stood that Arbuthnot had the principal share." — See Preliminary 
Dissertation to Encyclopaedia Britannica, note to p. 242, and also 
note b. b. b., p. 285. 

1 TO MR. PvICHAEDSOX. 

" Twickenham, June 10, 1733. 
" As I know you and I mutually desire to see one another, I 



PItlOK, GAY, AND POPE. 221 

wonderful Kneller, who bragged more, spelt worse, 
and painted better than any artist of his day. 1 

It is affecting to note, through Pope's correspond- 
ence, the marked way in which his friends, the 
greatest, the most famous, and wittiest men of the 
time — generals and statesmen, philosophers and 
divines — all have a kind word, and a kind thought 
for the good simple old mother, whom Pope tended 
so affectionately. Those men would have scarcely 
valued her, but that they knew how much he loved 



hope that this day our wishes would have met, and brought you 
hither. And this for the very reason, which possibly might hinder 
you coming, that my poor mother is dead. 1 thank God, her 
death was as easy as her life was innocent ; and as it cost her not 
a groan, or even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance such an 
expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is even 
amiable to behold it. It would afford the finest image of a saint 
expired that ever painter drew ; and it would be the greatest 
obligation which even that obliging art could ever bestow on a 
friend, if you could come and sketch it for me. I am sure, if there 
be no very precedent obstacle, you will leave any common business 
to do this ; and I hope to see you this evening, or to-morrow 
morning as early, before this winter flower is faded. I will defer 
her interment till to-morrow night. I know you love me, or I 
could not have written this — I could not (at this time) have 
written at all. Adieu ! May you die as happy ! 

" Yours, &c." 

1 " Mr. Pope was with Sir Godfrey Kneller one day, when his 
nephew, a Guinea trader, came in. ' Nephew,' said Sir Godfrey, 
■ you have the honour of seeing the two greatest men in the 
world.' — ' I don't know how great you may be,' said the Guinea 
man, ' but I don't like your looks : I have often bought a man, 
much better than both of you together, all muscles and bones, for 
ten guineas.' " — Dr. Waeburton (Spence's Anecdotes). 



222 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

her, and that they pleased him by thinking of her. 
If his early letters to women are affected and insin- 
cere, whenever he speaks about this one, it is with a 
childish tenderness and an almost sacred simplicity. 
In 1713, when young Mr. Pope had, by a series of 
the most astonishing victories and dazzling achieve- 
ments, seized the crown of poetry ; and the town was 
in an uproar of admiration, or hostility, for the young 
chief; when Pope was issuing his famous decrees for 
the translation of the Iliad ; when Dennis and the 
lower critics were hooting and assailing him ; when 
Addison and the gentlemen of his court were sneer- 
ing with sickening hearts at the prodigious triumphs 
of the young conqueror ; when Pope, in a fever of 
victory, and genius, and hope, and anger, was 
struggling through the crowd of shouting friends and 
furious detractors to his temple of Fame, his old 
mother writes from the country, c \ My deare," says 
she, " my deare, there's Mr. Blount, of Mapel Durom, 
dead the same day that Mr. Inglefield died. Your 
sister is well ; but your brother is sick. My service 
to Mrs. Blount, and all that ask of me. I hope to 
hear from you, and that you are well, which is my 
daily prayer; and this with my blessing." The 
triumph marches by, and the car of the young con- 
queror, the hero of a hundred brilliant victories — the 
fond mother sits in the quiet cottage at home, and 
says " I send you my daily prayers, and I bless you, 
my deare." 



PEIOK, GAY, AND POPE. 223 

In our estimate of Pope's character, let us always 
take into account that constant tenderness and 
fidelity of affection which pervaded and sanctified his 
life, and never forget that maternal benediction. 1 It 
accompanied him always : his life seems purified by 
those artless and heartfelt prayers. And he seems 
to have received and deserved the fond attachment of 
the other members of his family. It is not a little 
touching to read in Spence of the enthusiastic admi- 
ration with which his half sister regarded him, and 
the simple anecdote by which she illustrates her love. 
" I think no man was ever so little fond of money." 
Mrs. Rackett says about her brother, " I think my 
brother when he was young read more books than 
any man in the world ;" and she falls to telling stories 
of his school days, and the manner in which his 
master at Twyford ill-used him. " I don't think my 
brother knew what fear was," she continues ; and the 
accounts of Pope's friends bear out this character for 
courage. When he had exasperated the dunces, and 
threats of violence and personal assault were brought 

1 Swift's mention of him as one, 



■whose filial piety excels, 



Whatever Grecian story tells," 

is well known. And a sneer of Walpole's may be put to a better 
use than he ever intended it for, apropos of this subject. — He 
charitably sneers, in one of his letters, at Spence's " fondling an 
old mother— in imitation of Pope !" 



224 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

to him, the dauntless little champion never for one 
instant allowed fear to disturb him, or condescended 
to take any guard in his daily walks, except occa- 
sionally his faithful dog to bear him company. " I 
had rather die at once," said the gallant little cripple, 
" than live in fear of those rascals." 

As for his death, it was what the noble Arbuthnot 
asked and enjoyed for himself — a euthanasia — a 
beautiful end. A perfect benevolence, affection, 
serenity, hallowed the departure of that high soul. 
Even in the very hallucinations of his brain, and 
weaknesses of his delirium, there was something 
almost sacred. Spence describes him in his last days, 
looking up, and with a rapt gaze as if something 
had suddenly passed before him. He said to me 
" What's that?" pointing into the air with a very 
steady regard, and then looked down and said, with a 
smile of the greatest softness, " 'twas a vision !" He 
laughed scarcely ever, but his companions describe 
his countenance as often illuminated by a peculiar 
sweet smile. 

" When," said Spence, 1 the kind anecdotist whom 

1 Joseph Spence was the son of a clergyman, near Winchester. 
He was a short time at Eton, and afterwards became a Fellow of 
New College, Oxford, a clergyman, and professor of poetry. He 
was a friend of Thomson's, whose reputation he aided. He 
published an ** Essay on the Odyssey" in 1726, which introduced 
him to Pope. Everybody liked him. His "Anecdotes" were 
placed, while still in MS., at the service of Johnson and also of 
Malone. They were published by Mr. Singer in 1820. 



PBIOK, GAY, AND POPE. 225 






Johnson despised, " when I was telling Lord Boling- 
broke that Mr. Pope, on every catching and recovery 
of his mind, was always saying something kindly of 
his present or absent friends ; and that this was so 
surprising, as it seemed to me as if humanity had 
outlasted understanding,' Lord Bolingbroke said, ( It 
has so,' and then added, ( I never in my life knew a 
man who had so tender a heart for his particular 
friends, or a more general friendship for mankind. 
I have known him these thirty years, and value 

myself more for that man's love than' Here," 

Spence says, " St. John sunk his head, and lost his 
voice in tears." The sob which finishes the epitaph 
is finer than words. It is the cloak thrown over the 
father's face in the famous Greek picture which hides 
the grief and heightens it. 

In Johnson's "Life of Pope," you will find de- 
scribed with rather a malicious minuteness some of 
the personal habits and infirmities of the great little 
Pope. His body was crooked, he was so short that 
it was necessary to raise his chair in order to place 
him on a level with other people at table. 1 He was 
sewed up in a buckram suit every morning and 
required a nurse like a child. His contemporaries 

1 He speaks of Arbutlmot's having helped him through " that 
long disease, my life." But not only was he so feeble as is implied 
in his use of the "buckram," but "it now appears," says Mr. 
Peter Cunningham, " from his unpublished letters, that, like Lord 

Q 



226 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

reviled these misfortunes with a strange acrimony, 
and made his poor deformed person the butt for 
many a bolt of heavy wit. The facetious Mr. 
Dennis, in speaking of him, says, " If you take 
the first letter of Mr. Alexander Pope's Christian 
name, and the first and last letters of his surname, 
you have A. P. E." Pope catalogues, at the end of 
the Dunciad, with a rueful precision, other pretty 
names, besides Ape, which Dennis called him. That 
great critic pronounced Mr. Pope was a little ass, a 
fool, a coward, a Papist, and therefore a hater of 
Scripture, and so forth. It must be remembered that 
the pillory was a flourishing and popular institution 
in those days. Authors stood in it in the body some- 
times: and dragged their enemies thither morally, 
hooted them with foul abuse, and assailed them with 
garbage of the gutter. Poor Pope's figure was an 
easy one for those clumsy caricaturists to draw. 
Any stupid hand could draw a hunchback, and 
write Pope underneath. They did. A libel was 
published against Pope, with such a frontispiece. 
This kind of rude jesting was an evidence not only 
of an ill nature, but a dull one. When a child 



Hervey, he had recourse to ass's-milk for the preservation of his 
health." It is to his lordship's use of that simple beverage that 
he alludes when he says — 

"Let Sporus tremble!— A. What, that thing of silk, 
Sporus, that mere white-curd of ass's milk ? " 

- 



PRIOR, GAY, AND POPE. 227 

makes a pun, or a lout breaks out into a laugh, 
it is some very obvious combination of words, or 
discrepancy of objects, which provokes the infantine 
satirist, or tickles the boorish wag; and many of 
Pope's revilers laughed, not so much because they 
were wicked, as because they knew no better. , 

Without the utmost sensibility, Pope could not 
have been the poet he was; and through his life 
however much he protested that he disregarded their 
abuse, the coarse ridicule of his opponents stung 
and tore him. One of Cibber's pamphlets coming 
into Pope's hands, whilst Richardson the painter 
was with him, Pope turned round and said, " These 
things are my diversions : " and Richardson, sitting 
by whilst Pope perused the libel, said he saw his 
features " writhing with anguish." How little human 
nature changes ! Can't one see that little figure ? 
Can't one fancy one is reading Horace ? Can't one 
fancy one is speaking of to-day? 

The tastes and sensibilities of Pope, which led him 
to cultivate the society of persons of fine manners, 
or wit, or taste, or beauty, caused him to shrink 
equally from that shabby and boisterous crew which 
formed the rank and file of literature in his time: 
and he was as unjust to these men as they to him. 
The delicate little creature sickened at habits and 
company which were quite tolerable to robuster 
men : and in the famous feud between Pope and the 

Q 2 



228 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Dunces, and without attributing any peculiar wrong 
to either, one can quite understand how the two 
parties should so hate each other. As I fancy, it 
was a sort of necessity that when Pope's triumph 
passed, Mr. Addison and his men should look rather 
contemptuously down on it from their balcony ; so it 
was natural for Dennis and Tibbald, and Webster 
and Cibber, and the worn and hungry press-men in 
the crowd below, to howl at him and assail him. 
And Pope was more savage to Grub-street than 
Grub-street was to Pope. The thong with which 
he lashed them was dreadful; he fired upon that 
howling crew such shafts of flame and poison, he 
slew and wounded so fiercely, that in reading the 
"Dunciad" and the prose lampoons of Pope, one 
feels disposed to side against the ruthless little 
tyrant, at least to pity those wretched folks upon 
whom he was so unmerciful. It was Pope, and 
Swift to aid him, who established among us the 
Grub-street tradition. He revels in base descrip- 
tions of poor men's want; he gloats over poor 
Dennis's garret, and flannel night-cap, and red 
stockings; he gives instructions how to find Curll's 
authors, the historian at the tallow-chandler's under 
the blind arch in Petty France, the two translators 
in bed together, the poet in the cock-loft in Budge 
Row, whose landlady keeps the ladder. It was 
Pope, I fear, who contributed, more than any man 



PBI0K, GAY, AND POPE. 229 

who ever lived, to depreciate the literary calling. 
It was not an unprosperous one before that time, as 
we have seen; at least there were great prizes in 
the profession which had made Addison a minister, 
and Prior an ambassador, and Steele a commissioner s 
and Swift all but a bishop. The profession of letters 
was ruined by that libel of the " Dunciad." If 
authors were wretched and poor before, if some of 
them lived in haylofts, of which their landladies 
kept the ladders, at least nobody came to disturb 
them in their straw ; if three of them had but one 
coat between them, the. two remained invisible in the 
garret, the third, at any rate, appeared decently 
at the coffee-house, and paid his twopence like a 
gentleman. It was Pope that dragged into light 
all this poverty and meanness, and held up those 
wretched shifts and rags to public ridicule. It was 
Pope that has made generations of the reading 
world (delighted with the mischief, as who would 
not be that reads it ?) believe that author and wretch, 
author and rags, author and dirt, author and drink, 
gin, cow-heel, tripe, poverty, duns, bailiffs, squalling 
children and clamorous landladies, were always asso- 
ciated together. The condition of authorship began 
to fall from the days of the K Dunciad : " and I 
believe in my heart that much of that obloquy 
which has since pursued our calling was occasioned 
by Pope's libels and wicked wit. Everybody read 



230 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

those. Everybody was familiarised with the idea 
of the poor devil, the author. The manner is so 
captivating that young authors practise it, and begin 
their career with satire. It is so easy to write, and 
so pleasant to read ! to fire a shot that makes a giant 
wince, perhaps ; and fancy one's self his conqueror. 
It is easy to shoot — but not as Pope did — the shafts 
of his satire rise sublimely: no poet's verse ever 
mounted higher than that wonderful flight with 
which the " Dunciad " concludes 1 : — 

" She comes, she comes ! the sable throne behold ! 
Of night primeval and of Chaos old ; 
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, 
And all its varying rainbows die away ; 
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, 
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. 
As, one by one, at dread Medea's strain 
The sick'ning stars fade off the ethereal plain ; 
As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppress'd, 
Closed one by one to everlasting rest ; — 
Thus, at her fell approach and secret might, 
Art after Art goes out, and all is night. 
See skulking Faith to her old cavern fled, 
Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head ; 
Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, 
Shrinks to her second cause and is no more. 
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, 
And, unawares, Morality expires. 
Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine, 
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine. 



1 " He (Johnson) repeated to us, in his forcible melo- 
dious manner, the concluding lines of the ' Dunciad.' " — 
Boswell. 



PRIOB, GAY, AND POPE. 231 

Lo ! thy dread empire, Chaos, is restored, 
Light dies before thy uncreating word ; 
Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall, 
And universal darkness buries all." l 

In these astonishing lines Pope reaches, I think, to 
the very greatest height which his sublime art has 
attained, and shows himself the equal of all poets of 
all times. It is the brightest ardour, the loftiest 
assertion of truth, the most generous wisdom, illus- 
trated by the noblest poetic figure, and spoken in 
words the aptest, grandest, and most harmonious. 
It is heroic courage speaking : a splendid declaration 
of righteous wrath and war. It is the gage flung 
down, and the silver trumpet ringing defiance to 
falsehood and tyranny, deceit, dulness, superstition. 
It is Truth, the champion, shining and intrepid, and 
fronting the great world-tyrant with armies of slaves 
at his back. It is a wonderful and victorious single 
combat, in that great battle, which has always been 
waging since society began. 

In speaking of a work of consummate art one does 
not try to show what it actually is, for that were 
vain ; but what it is like, and what are the sensations 
produced in the mind of him who views it. And in 

1 "Mr. Langton informed me that he once related to Johnson 
{on the authority of Spence), that Pope himself admired these 
lines so much that when he repeated them his voice faltered. 
'And well it might, sir/ said Johnson, 'for they are noble lines.'" 
J. Bos well, junior. 



232 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

considering Pope's admirable career, I am forced into 
similitudes drawn from other courage and greatness, 
and into comparing him with those who achieved 
triumphs in actual war. I think of the works of 
young Pope as I do of the actions of young Bonaparte 
or young Nelson. In their common life you will find 
frailties and meannesses, as great as the vices and 
follies of the meanest men. But in the presence of 
the great occasion, the great soul flashes out, and 
conquers transcendent. In thinking of the splendour 
of Pope's young victories, of his merit, unequalled 
as his renown, I hail and salute the achieving genius, 
and do homage to the pen of a hero. 



LECTURE THE FIFTH. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 

I suppose as long as novels last and authors aim at 
interesting their public, there must always be in the 
story a virtuous and gallant hero, a wicked monster 
his opposite, and a pretty girl who finds a champion ; 
bravery and virtue conquer beauty : and vice, after 
seeming to triumph through a certain number of 
pages, is sure to be discomfited in the last volume, 
when justice overtakes him and honest folks come by 
their own. There never was perhaps a greatly 
popular story but this simple plot was carried through 
it : mere satiric wit is addressed to a class of readers 
and thinkers quite different to those simple souls who 
laugh and weep over the novel. I fancy very few 
ladies indeed, for instance, could be brought to like 
" Gulliver" heartily, and (putting the coarseness and 
difference of manners out of the question) to relish 
the wonderful satire of " Jonathan Wild." In that 
strange apologue, the author takes for a hero the 



234 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

greatest rascal, coward, traitor, tyrant, hypocrite, 
that his wit and experience, both large in this matter, 
conld enable him to devise or depict; he accompanies 
this villain through all the actions of his life, with a 
grinning deference and a wonderful mock respect: 
and doesn't leave him, till he is dangling at the 
gallows, when the satirist makes him a low bow and 
wishes the scoundrel good day. 

It was not by satire of this sort, or by scorn and 
contempt, that Hogarth achieved his vast popularity 
and acquired his reputation. 1 His art is quite simple, 2 

1 Coleridge speaks of the " beautiful female faces " in Hogarth's 
pictures, " in whom," he says, " the satirist never extinguished 
that love of beauty which belonged to him as a poet." — The 
Friend. 

2 "I was pleased with the reply of a gentleman, who, being 
asked which book he esteemed most in his library, answered 
' Shakspeare ' : being asked which he esteemed next best, replied 
' Hogarth.' His graphic representations are indeed books : they 
have the teeming, fruitful, suggestive meaning of words. Other 
pictures we look at — his prints we read 

" The quantity of thought which Hogarth crowds into every 
picture would almost un vulgarise every subject which he might 
choose 

"I say not that all the ridiculous subjects of Hogarth have 
necessarily something in them to make us like them ; some are 
indifferent to us, some in their nature repulsive, and only made 
interesting by the wonderful skill and truth to nature in the 
painter ; but I contend that there is in most of them that sprink- 
ling of the better nature, which, like holy water, chases away and 
disperses the contagion of the bad. They have this in them, 
besides, that they bring us acquainted with the every-day human 
face, — they give us skill to detect those gradations of sense and 
virtue (which escape the careless or fastidious observer) in the 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 235 

lie speaks popular parables to interest simple hearts 
and to inspire them with pleasure or pity or warning 
and terror. Not one of his tales but is as easy as 
" Goody Two Shoes ; " it is the moral of Tommy was 
a naughty boy and the master flogged him, and Jacky 
was a good boy and had plum cake, which pervades 



circumstances of the world about us ; and prevent that disgust at 
common life, that tcedium quotidianarum formarum, which an un- 
restricted passion for ideal forms and beauties is in danger of 
producing. In this, as in many other things, they are analogous 
to the best novels of Smollett and Fielding." — Charles Lamb. 

11 It has been observed that Hogarth's pictures are exceedingly 
unlike any other representations of the same kind of subjects — 
that they form a class, and have a character, peculiar to them- 
selves. It may be worth while to consider in what this general 
distinction consists. 

" In the first place, they are, in the strictest sense, historical 
pictures ; and if what Fielding says be true, that his novel of 
' Tom Jones ' ought to be regarded as an epic prose-poem, because 
it contained a regular development of fable, manners, character, 
and passion, the compositions of Hogarth, will, in like manner, 
be found to have a higher claim to the title of epic pictures than 
many which have of late arrogated that denomination to them- 
selves. When we say that Hogarth treated his subjects historically, 
we mean that his works represent the manners and humours of 
mankind in action, and their characters by varied expression. 
Everything in Ms pictures has life and motion in it. Not only 
does the business of the scene never stand still, but every feature 
and muscle is put into full play ; the exact feeling of the moment 
is brought out, and carried to its utmost height, and then instantly 
seized and stamped on the canvass for ever. The expression is 
always taken en passant, in a state of progress or change, and, as 

it were, at the salient point His figures are not like the 

back-ground on which they are painted : even the pictures on the 
wall have a peculiar look of their own. Again, with the rapidity, 
variety, and scope of history, Hogarth's heads have all the reality 



236 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

the whole works of the homely and famous English 
moralist. And if the moral is written in rather too 
large letters after the fable, we must remember how 
simple the scholars and schoolmaster both were, and 
like neither the less because they are so artless and 
honest. " It was a maxim of Dr. Harrison's," Field- 
ing says in " Amelia," speaking of the benevolent 
divine and philosopher who represents the good 
principle in that novel — " that no man can descend 
below himself, in doing any act which may contribute 
to protect an innocent person, or to bring a rogue to 
the gallows.'''' The moralist of that age had no com- 
punction you see ; they had not begun to be sceptical 
about the theory of punishment, and thought that the 
hanging of a thief was a spectacle for edification. 
Masters sent their apprentices, fathers took their 
children, to see Jack Sheppard or Jonathan Wild 
hanged, and it was as undoubting subscribers to this 
moral law, that Fielding wrote and Hogarth painted. 
Except in one instance, where in the mad-house scene 
in the " Rake's Progress," the girl whom he has 
ruined is represented as still tending and weeping 



and correctness of portraits. He gives the extremes of character 
and expression, but he gives them with perfect truth and accuracy. 
This is, in fact, what distinguishes his compositions from all others 
of the same kind, that they are equally remote from caricature, 

and from mere still life His faces go to the very verge 

of caricature, and yet never (we believe in any single instance) go 
beyond it." — Hazlitt. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 237 

over him in his insanity, a -glimpse of pity for his 
rogues never seems to enter honest Hogarth's mind. 
There's not the slightest doubt in the breast of the 
jolly Draco. 

The famous set of pictures called " Marriage a la 
Mode," and which are exhibited at Marlborough 
House, in London, contains the most important and 
highly wrought of the Hogarth comedies. The care 
and method with which the moral grounds of these 
pictures are laid is as remarkable as the wit and 
skill of the observing and dexterous artist. He has 
to describe the negotiations for a marriage pending 
between the daughter of a rich citizen Alderman and 
young Lord Viscount Squanderfield, the dissipated 
son of a gouty old Earl. Pride and pomposity 
appear in every accessory surrounding the Earl. 
He sits in gold lace and velvet — as how should such 
an Earl wear anything but velvet and gold lace ? 
His coronet is everywhere : on his footstool on which 
reposes one gouty toe turned out ; on the sconces 
and looking-glasses ; on the dogs ; on his lordship's 
very crutches ; on his great chair of state and the 
great baldaquin behind him ; under which he sits 
pointing majestically to his pedigree, which shows 
that his race is sprung from the loins of William 
the Conqueror, and confronting the old Alderman 
from the City, who has mounted his sword for the 
occasion, and wears his Alderman's chain, and has 



238 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

brought a bag full of -money, mortgage-deeds, and 
thousand pound notes, for the arrangement of the 
transaction pending between them. Whilst the 
steward (a methodist, therefore a hypocrite and cheat, 
for Hogarth scorned a papist and a dissenter), is 
negotiating between the old couple, their children sit 
together, united but apart. My lord is admiring his 
countenance in the glass, while his bride is twiddling 
her marriage ring on her pocket handkerchief; and 
listening with rueful countenance to Counsellor Sil- 
vertongue, who has been drawing the settlements. 
The girl is pretty, but the painter, with a curious 
watchfulness, has taken care to give her a likeness 
to her father, as in the young Viscount's face you 
see a resemblance to the Earl, his noble sire. The 
sense of the coronet pervades the picture, as it is 
supposed to do the mind of its wearer. The pictures 
round the room are sly hints indicating the situation 
of the parties about to marry. A martyr is led to 
the fire ; Andromeda is offered to sacrifice ; Judith 
is going to slay Holofernes. There is the ancestor 
of the house (in the picture it is the Earl himself 
as a young man), with a comet over his head, indi- 
cating that the career of the family is to be brilliant 
and brief. In the second picture, the old Lord must 
be dead, for Madam has now the Countess's coronet 
over her bed and toilet-glass, and sits listening to that 
dangerous Counsellor Silvertongue, whose portrait 



HOGAKTH, SMOLLETT 5 AND FIELDING. 239 

now actually hangs up in her room, whilst the coun- 
sellor takes his ease on the sofa by her side, evidently 
the familiar of the house, and the confidant of the 
mistress. My lord takes his pleasure elsewhere than 
at home, whither he returns jaded and tipsy from 
the Rose, to find his wife yawning in her drawing- 
room, her whist-party over, and the daylight streaming 
in ; or he amuses himself with the very worst com- 
pany abroad, whilst his wife sits at home listening 
to foreign singers, or wastes her money at auctions, 
or, worse still, seeks amusement at masquerades. 
The dismal end is known. My lord draws upon the 
counsellor, who kills him, and is apprehended whilst 
endeavouring to escape. My lady goes back perforce 
to the Alderman in the City, and faints upon reading 
Counsellor Silvertongue's dying speech at Tyburn, 
where the counsellor has been executed for sending 
his lordship out of the world. Moral : — Don't listen 
to evil silver-tongued counsellors : don't marry a 
man for his rank, or a woman for her money : don't 
frequent foolish auctions and masquerade balls un- 
known to your husband: don't have wicked com- 
panions abroad and neglect your wife, otherwise you 
will be run through the body, and ruin will ensue, 
and disgrace, and Tyburn. The people are all 
naughty, and Bogey carries them all off. In tne 
" Rake's Progress," a loose life is ended by a similar 
sad catastrophe. It is the spendthrift coming into 



240 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

possession of the wealth of the paternal miser ; the 
prodigal surrounded by flatterers, and wasting his 
substance on the very worst company; the bailiffs, 
the gambling-house, and Bedlam for an end. In 
the famous story of Industry and Idleness, the moral 
is pointed in a manner similarly clear. Fair-haired 
Frank Goodchild smiles at his work, whilst naughty 
Tom Idle snores over his loom. Frank reads the 
edifying ballads of Whittington and the London 
'Prentice, whilst that reprobate Tom Idle prefers 
Moll Flanders, and drinks hugely of beer. Frank 
goes to church of a Sunday, and warbles hymns 
from the gallery ; while Tom lies on a tomb-stone 
outside playing at halfpenny-under-the-hat, with 
street blackguards, and is deservedly caned by the 
beadle ; Frank is made overseer of the business, 
whilst Tom is sent to sea. Frank is taken into part- 
nership and marries his master's daughter, sends out 
broken victuals to the poor, and listens in his night- 
cap and gown with the lovely Mrs. Goodchild by 
his side, to the nuptial music of the City bands and 
the marrow-bones and cleavers ; whilst idle Tom, 
returned from sea, shudders in a garret lest the 
officers are coming to take him for picking pockets. 
The Worshipful Francis Goodchild, Esq., becomes 
Sheriff of London, and partakes of the most splendid 
dinners which money can purchase or Alderman 
devour ; whilst poor Tom is taken up in a night cellar, 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 241 

with that one-eyed and disreputable accomplice who 
first taught him to play chuck-farthing on a Sunday. 
What happens next? Tom is brought up before 
the justice of his country, in the person of Mr. 
Alderman Goodchild, who weeps as he recognises 
his old brother 'prentice, as Tom's one-eyed friend 
peaches on him, and the clerk makes out the poor 
rogue's ticket for Newgate. Then the end comes. 
Tom goes to Tyburn in a cart with a coffin in it; 
whilst the Right Honourable Francis Goodchild, 
Lord Mayor of London, proceeds to his Mansion 
House, in his gilt coach with four footmen and a 
sword-bearer, whilst the Companies of London march 
in the august procession, whilst the trainbands of 
the City fire their pieces and get drunk in his honour; 
and oh, crowning delight and glory of all, whilst 
his Majesty the King looks out from his royal 
balcony, with his ribbon on his breast, and his Queen 
and his star by his side, at the corner house of St. 
Paul's Church-yard, where the toy-shop is now. 

How the times have changed! The new Post- 
office now not disadvantageously occupies that spot 
where the scaffolding is in the picture, where the 
tipsy trainband-man is lurching against the post, 
with his wig over one eye, and the 'prentice-boy is 
trying to kiss the pretty girl in the gallery. Past 
away 'prentice-boy and pretty girl! Past away 
tipsy trainband-man with wig and bandolier ! On 

R 



242 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the spot where Tom Idle (for whom I have an 
unaffected pity) made his exit from this wicked 
world, and where you see the hangman smoking his 
pipe as he reclines on the gibbet and views the hills 
of Harrow or Hampstead beyond — a splendid marble 
arch, a vast and modern city — clean, airy, painted 
drab, populous with nursery-maids and children, the 
abodes of wealth and comfort — the elegant, the pro- 
sperous, the polite Tyburnia rises, the most respectable 
district in the habitable globe ! 

In that last plate of the London Apprentices, in 
which the apotheosis of the Right Honourable Francis 
Goodchild is drawn, a ragged fellow is represented 
in the corner of the simple kindly piece, offering for 
sale a broadside, purporting to contain an account 
of the appearance of the ghost of Tom Idle, executed 
at Tyburn. Could Tom's ghost have made its 
appearance in 1847, and not in 1747, what changes 
would have been remarked by that astonished escaped 
criminal ! Over that road which the hangman used 
to travel constantly, and the Oxford stage twice a 
week, go ten thousand carriages every day: over 
yonder road, by which Dick Turpin fled to Windsor, 
and Squire Western journeyed into town, when he 
came to take up his quarters at the Hercules Pillars 
on the outskirts of London, what a rush of civilization 
and order flows now ! What armies of gentlemen 
with umbrellas march to banks, and chambers, and 



IIOGAHTII, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 243 

counting-houses ! What regiments of nursery-maids 
and pretty infantry ; what peaceful processions of 
policemen, what light broughams and what gay 
carriages, what swarms of busy apprentices and 
artificers, riding on omnibus-roofs, pass daily and 
hourly ! Tom Idle's times are quite changed : many 
of the institutions gone into disuse which were 
admired in his day. There's more pity and kindness 
and a better chance for poor Tom's successors now 
than at that simpler period when Fielding hanged 
him and Hogarth drew him. 

To the student of history, these admirable works 
must be invaluable, as they give us the most com- 
plete and truthful picture of the manners, and even 
the thoughts, of the past century. We look, and see 
pass before us the England of a hundred years ago — 
the peer in his drawing-room, the lady of fashion in 
her apartment, foreign singers surrounding her, and 
the chamber filled with gew-gaws in the mode of 
that day ; the church, with its quaint florid architec- 
ture and singing congregation ; the parson with his 
great wig, and the beadle with his cane : all these 
are represented before us, and we are sure of the 
truth of the portrait. We see how the Lord Mayor 
dines in state ; how the prodigal drinks and sports at 
the bagnio ; how the poor girl beats hemp in Bride- 
well ; how the thief divides his booty and drinks his 
punch at the night-cellar, and how he finishes his 

E 2 



244 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

career at the gibbet. We may depend upon the 
perfect accuracy of these strange and varied portraits 
of the bygone generation : we see one of Walpole's 
members of Parliament chaired after his election, 
and the lieges celebrating the event, and drinking 
confusion to the Pretender : we see the grenadiers 
and trainbands of the City marching out to meet the 
enemy ; and have before us, with sword and firelock, 
and white Hanoverian horse embroidered on the cap, 
the very figures of the men who ran away with 
Johnny Cope, and who conquered at Culloden. The 
Yorkshire waggon rolls into the inn-yard; the 
country parson, in his jack-boots, and his bands and 
short cassock, comes trotting into town, and we 
fancy it is Parson Adams, with his sermons in his 
pocket. The Salisbury fly sets forth from the old 
Angel — you see the passengers entering the great 
heavy vehicle, up the wooden steps, their hats tied 
down with handkerchiefs over their faces, and under 
their arms, sword, hanger, and case-bottle; the 
landlady — apoplectic with the liquors in her own 
bar — is tugging at the bell; the hunchbacked pos- 
tillion — he may have ridden the leaders to Humphry 
Clinker — is begging a gratuity ; the miser is grumb- 
ling at the bill ; Jack of the Centurion lies on the 
top of the clumsy vehicle, with a soldier by his 
side — it may be Smollett's Jack Hatchway — it has a 
likeness to Lismahago. You see the suburban fair 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 245 

and the strolling company of actors ; the pretty 
milkmaid singing under the windows of the enraged 
French musician — it is such a girl as Steele charm- 
ingly described in the " Guardian," a few years 
before this date, singing under Mr. Ironside's window 
in Shire-lane, her pleasant carol of a May morning. 
You see noblemen and blacklegs bawling and betting 
in the Cockpit ; you see Garrick as he was arrayed 
in King Richard ; Macheaili and Polly in the dresses 
which they wore when they charmed our ancestors, 
and when noblemen in blue ribbons sat on the stage 
and listened to their delightful music. You see the 
ragged French soldiery, in their white coats and 
cockades, at Calais Gate — they are of the regiment, 
very likely, which friend Roderick Random joined 
before he was rescued by his preserver Monsieur de 
Strap, with whom he fought on the famous day of 
Dettingen. You see the judges on the bench; the 
audience laughing in the pit; the student in the 
Oxford theatre; the citizen on his country w^alk; 
you see Broughton the boxer, Sarah Malcolm the 
murderess, Simon Lovat the traitor, John Wilkes 
the demagogue, leering at you with that squint 
which has become historical, and that face which, 
ugly as it was, he said he could make as captivating 
to woman as the countenance of the handsomest 
beau in town. > All these sights and people are 
with you. After looking in the s f Rake's Progress" 



24 G ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

at Hogarth's picture of St. James's Palace-gate, you 
may people the street, but little altered within 
these hundred years, with the gilded carriages and 
thronging chairmen that bore the courtiers your 
ancestors to Queen Caroline's drawing-room more 
than a hundred years ago. 

What manner of man 1 was he who executed these 

1 Hogarth (whose family name was Hogart) was the grandson 
of a Westmoreland yeoman. His father came to London, and 
was an author and schoolmaster. William was born in 1698 
(according to the most probable conjecture) in the parish of St. 
Martin, Ludgate. He was early apprenticed to an engraver of 
arms on plate. The following touches are from his Anecdotes of 
Himself. (Edition of 1833.) ' 

"As I had naturally a good eye, and a fondness for drawing, 
shows of all sorts gave me uncommon pleasure when an infant ; 
and mimicry, common to all children, was remarkable in me. An 
early access to a neighbouring painter drew my attention from 
play ; and I was, at every possible opportunity, employed in 
making drawings. I picked up an acquaintance of the same turn, 
and soon learnt to draw the alphabet with great correctness. My 
exercises, when at school, were more remarkable for the ornaments 
which adorned them, than for the exercise itself. In the former, 
I soon found that blockheads with better memories could much 
surpass me; but for the latter I was particularly distinguished. . . . 

" I thought it still more unlikely that by pursuing the common 
method, and copying old drawings, I could ever attain the power 
of making new designs, which was my first and greatest ambition. 
I therefore endeavoured to habituate myself to the exercise of a 
sort of technical memory ; and by repeating in my own mind, the 
parts of which objects were composed, I could by degrees combine 
and put them down with my pencil. Thus, with all the drawbacks 
which resulted from the circumstances I have mentioned, I had 
one material advantage over my competitors, viz., the early habit 
I thus acquired of retaining in my mind's eye, without coldly 
copying it on the spot, whatever I intended to imitate. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 247 

portraits — so various, so faithful, and so admirable ? 
In the London National Gallery most of us have 



u The instant I became master of my own time, I determined to 
qualify myself for engraving on copper. In this I readily got 
employment ; and frontispieces to books, such as prints to 
* Hudibras,' in twelves, &c, soon brought me into the way. But 
the tribe of booksellers remained as my father had left 
them .... which put me upon publishing on my own ac- 
count. But here again I had to encounter a monopoly of print- 
sellers, equally mean and destructive to the ingenious ; for the 
first plate I published, called ' The Taste of the Town,' in which 
the reigning follies were lashed, had no sooner begun to take a 
run, than I found copies of it in the print-shops, vending at half- 
price, while the original prints were returned to me again, and I 
was thus obliged to sell the plate for whatever these pirates 
pleased to give me, as there was no place of sale but at their 
shops. Owing to this, and other circumstances, by engraving, 
until I was near thirty, I could do little more than maintain 
myself; but even then, I was a punctual paymaster. 

"I then married, and 

[But William is going too fast here. He made ' a stolen union' 
on March 23, 1729, with Jane, daughter of Sir James Thornhill, 
serjeant-painter. For some time Sir James kept his heart and 
his purse-strings close, but ' soon after became both reconciled and 
generous to the young couple.' — Hogarth's Works, by Nichols and 
Steevens, vol. i. p. 44.] 

(l — commenced painter of small Conversation Pieces, from 
twelve to fifteen inches high. This, being a novelty, succeeded 
for a few years." 

(About this time Hogarth had summer-lodgings at South 
Lambeth, and did all kinds of work, " embellishing " the " Spring 
Gardens" at " Vauxhall," and the like. In 1731, he published a 
satirical plate against Pope, founded on the well-known imputa- 
tion against him of his having satirised the Duke of Chandos 
nnder the name of Timon, in his poem on Taste. The plate 
represented a view of Burlington House, with Pope whitewashing 
it, and bespattering the Duke of Chandos's coach. Pope made no 
retort, and has never mentioned Hogarth.) 



248 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

seen the best and most carefully finished series of 
his comic paintings, and the portrait of his own 

"Before I had done anything of much consequence in this 
walk, I entertained some hopes of succeeding in what the puffers 
in books call The Great Style of History Painting; so that without 
having had a stroke of this grand business before, I quitted small 
portraits and familiar conversations, and with a smile at my own 
temerity, commenced history -painter, and on a great staircase at 
St. Bartholomew's Hospital, painted two Scripture stories, the 
'Pool of Bethesda' and the 'Good Samaritan,' with features 

seven feet high But as religion, the great promoter of 

this style in other countries, rejected it in England, I was un- 
willing to sink into a portrait manufacturer-, and still ambitious 
of being singular, dropped all expectations of advantage from 
that source, and returned to the pursuit of my former dealings 
with the public at large. 

" As to portrait-painting, the chief branch of the art by which 
a painter can procure himself a tolerable livelihood, and the only 
one by which a lover of money can get a fortune, a man of very 
moderate talents may have great success in it, as the artifice and 
address of a mercer is infinitely more useful than the abilities of 
a painter. By the manner in which the present race of professors 
in England conduct it, that also becomes still life." 

****** 

" By this inundation of folly and puff " (he has been speaking of 
the success of Vanloo, who came over here in 1737), " I must confess 
I was much disgusted, and determined to try if by any means I 
could stem the torrent, and, by opposing, end it. I laughed at the 
pretensions of these quacks in colouring, ridiculed their pro- 
ductions as feeble and contemptible, and asserted that it required 
neither taste nor talents to excel their most popular performances. 
This interference excited much enmity, because, as my opponents 
told me, my studies were in another way. You talk, added they, 
with ineffable contempt of portrait-painting ; if it is so easy a 
task, why do not you convince the world, by painting a portrait 
yourself? Provoked at this language, I, one day at the Academy 
in St. Martin's Lane, put the following question : Supposing any 
man, at this time, were to paint a portrait as well as Vandyke, 



HOGAKTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 249 

honest face, of which the bright blue eyes shine out 
from the canvass and give you an idea of that 

would it be seen or acknowledged, and could the artist enjoy the 
benefit or acquire the reputation due to his performance ? 

" They asked me in reply, If I could paint one as well ? and I 
frankly answered, I believed I could 

" Of the mighty talents said to be requisite for portrait-painting. 
I had not the most exalted opinion." 

Let us now hear him on the question of the Academy : — 

" To pester the three great estates of the empire, about twenty 
or thirty students drawing after a man or a horse, appears, as 
must be acknowledged, foolish enough : but the real motive is, 
that a few bustling characters, who have access to people of rank, 
think they can thus get a superiority over their brethren, be 
appointed to places, and have salaries, as in France, for telling a 
lad when a leg or an arm is too long or too short. . . . 

" Trance, ever aping the magnificence of other nations, has in 
its turn assumed a foppish kind of splendour sufficient to dazzle 
the eyes of the neighbouring states, and draw vast sums of money 
from this country. . . . 

" To return to our Eoyal Academy : I am told that one of their 
leading objects will be, sending young men abroad to study the 
antique statues, for such kind of studies may sometimes improve 
an exalted genius, but they will not create it ; and whatever has 
been the cause, this same travelling to Italy has, in several in- 
stances that I have seen, reduced the student from nature, and 
led him to paint marble figures, in which he has availed himself 
of the great works of antiquity, as a coward does when he puts 
on the armour of an Alexander ; for, with similar pretensions and 
similar vanity, the painter supposes he shall be adored as a second 
Raphael Urbino." 

We must now hear him on his " Sigismunda : " — 

" As the most violent and virulent abuse thrown on ' Sigis- 
munda ' was from a set of miscreants, with whom I am proud of 
having been ever at war, I mean the expounders of the mysteries 
of old pictures, I have been sometimes told they were beneath my 
notice. This is true of them individually, but as they have access 
to people of rank, who seem as happy in being cheated as these 



250 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

keen and brave look with which William Hogarth 
regarded the world. No man was ever less of a 



merchants are jn cheating them, they have a power of doing much 
mischief to a modern artist. However mean the vendor of poisons, 
the mineral is destructive : — to me its operation was troublesome 
enough. Ill nature spreads so fast that now was the time for 
every little dog in the profession to bark ! " 

Next comes a characteristic account of his controversy with 
"Wilkes and Churchill. 

" The stagnation rendered it necessary that I should do some 
timed thing, to recover my lost time, and stop a gap in my income. 
This drew forth my print of ' The Times,' a subject which tended 
to the restoration of peace and unanimity, and put the opposers 
of these humane objects in a light which gave great offence to 
those who were trying to foment disaffection in the minds of the 
populace. One of the most notorious of them, till now my friend 
and flatterer, attacked me in a ' North Briton,' in so infamous and 
malign a style, that he himself, when pushed even by his best 
friends, was driven to so poor an excuse as to say he was drunk 
when he wrote it. . . . 

" This renoAvned patriot's portrait, drawn like as I could as to 
features, and marked with some indications of his mind, fully 
answered my purpose. The ridiculous was apparent to every 
eye! A Brutus! A saviour of his country with such an 
aspect — was so arrant a farce, that though it gave rise to much 
laughter in the lookers-on, galled both him and bis adherents to 
the bone. . . . 

"Churchill, "Wilkes's toad-echo, put the 'North Briton' into 
verse, in an Epistle to Hogarth ; but as the abuse was precisely 
the same, except a little poetical heightening, which goes for 
nothing, it made no impression. . . . However, having an old 
plate by me, with some parts ready, such as the back-ground and 
a dog, I began to consider how I could turn so much work laid 
aside to some account, and so patched up a print of Master 
Churchill in the character of a Bear. The pleasure and pecuniary 
advantage which I derived from these two engravings, together 
with occasionally riding on horseback, restored me to as much 
health as can be expected at my time of life." 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 251 

hero ; you see him before you, and can fancy what 
he was — ft jovial, honest, London citizen, stout and 
sturdy; a hearty, plain-spoken man, 1 loving his 
laugh, his friend, his glass, his roast-beef of Old 
England, and having a proper bourgeois scorn for 
French frogs, for mounseers, and wooden shoes in 
general, for foreign fiddlers, foreign singers, and, 
above all, for foreign painters, whom he held in the 
most amusing contempt. 

It must have been great fun to hear him rage 
against Correggio and the Carracci; to watch him 

1 "It happened in the early part of Hogarth's life, that a 
nohleman who was uncommonly ugly and deformed came to sit 
to him for his picture. It was executed with a skill that did 
honour to the artist's abilities ; but the likeness was rigidly 
observed, without even the necessary attention to compliment 
or flattery. The peer, disgusted at this counterpart of himself, 
never once thought of paying for a reflection that would only 
disgust him with his deformities. Some time was suffered to 
elapse before the artist applied for his money ; but afterwards 
many applications were made by him (who had then no need 
of a banker) for payment, without success. The painter, how- 
ever, at last hit upon an expedient. ... It was couched in the 
following card : — 

" ' Mr. Hogarth's dutiful respects to Lord . Finding that 

he does not mean to have the picture which was drawn for him, 
is informed again of Mr. Hogarth's necessity for the money. If, 
therefore, his Lordship does not send for it, in three days, it will 
be disposed of, with the addition of a tail, and some other little 
appendages, to Mr. Hare, the famous wild beast man : Mr. Hogarth 
having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it, for an 
exhibition-picture, on his Lordship's refusal.' 

"This intimation had the desired effect." — Works by Nichols 
a?id Steevens, vol. i. p. 25. 



252 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

thump the table and snap his fingers, and say, 
" Historical painters be hanged ; here 's the man 
that will paint against any of them for a hundred 
pounds. Correggio's ( Sigismunda ! ' Look at Bill 
Hogarth's ( Sigismunda ; ' look at my altar-piece 
at St. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol; look at my f Paul 
before Felix/ and see whether I 'm not as good as the 
best of them." x 

Posterity has not quite confirmed honest Hogarth's 
opinion about his talents for the sublime. Although 
Swift could not see the difference between tweedle- 
dee and tweedle-dum, posterity has not shared the 
Dean's contempt for Handel ; the world has disco- 
vered a difference between tweedle-dee and tweedle- 

1 " Garrick himself was not more ductile to flattery. A word 
in favour of ' Sigismunda ' might hare commanded a proof-print 
or forced an original print out of our artist's hands." . . . 

" The following authenticated story of our artist (furnished by 
the late Mr. Belchior, F.R.S., a surgeon of eminence) will also 
serve to show how much more easy it is to detect ill-placed or 
hyperbolical adulation respecting others, than when applied to 
ourselves. Hogarth, being at dinner with the great Cheselden and 
some other company, was told that Mr. John Freke, surgeon of 
St. Bartholomew's Hospital, a few evenings before at Dick's Coffee 
House, had asserted that Greene was as eminent in composition as 
Handel. ' That fellow Freke,' replied Hogarth, ' is always shoot- 
ing his bolt absurdly, one way or another. Handel is a giant in 
music ; Greene only a light Florimel kind of a composer.' ' Ay,' 
says our artist's informant, ' but at the same time Mr. Freke 
declared you were as good a portrait-painter as Vandyek.' ' There 

he was right,' adds Hogarth, ' and so, by G , I am, give me 

my time and let me choose my subject." — Works by Nicholh and 
Steevens, vol. i., pp. 236, 237. 



HOaAKTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 253 

dum, and given a hearty applause and admiration to 
Hogarth, too, but not exactly as a painter of scriptural 
subjects, or as a rival of Correggio. It does not take 
away from one's liking for the man, or from the 
moral of his story, or the humour of it, from one's 
admiration for the prodigious merit of his perform- 
ances, to remember that he persisted to the last in 
believing that the world was in a conspiracy against 
him with respect to his talents as an historical painter, 
and that a set of miscreants, as he called them, were 
employed to run his genius down. They say it was 
Liston's firm belief, that he was a great and neglected 
tragic actor; they say that every one of us believes 
in his heart, or would like to have others believe, that 
he is something which he is not. One of the most 
notorious of the " miscreants," Hogarth says, was 
Wilkes, who assailed him in the (( North Briton ;" 
the other was Churchill, who put the " North Briton" 
attack into heroic verse, and published his i( Epistle 
to Hogarth." Hogarth replied by that caricature of 
Wilkes, in which the patriot still figures before us, 
with his Satanic grin and squint, and by a caricature 
of Churchill, in whieLhe is represented as a bear 
with a staff, on which, lie the first, lie the second, lie 
the tenth, is engraved in unmistakeable letters. 
There is very little mistake about honest Hogarth's 
satire : if he has to paint a man with his throat cut, 
he draws him with his head almost off; and he tried 



254 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

to do the same for his enemies in this little contro- 
versy. " Having an old plate by me/' says he, " with 
some parts ready, such as the background, and a dog, 
I began to consider how I could turn so much work 
laid aside to some account, and so patched up a print 
of Master Churchill, in the character of a bear ; the 
pleasure and pecuniary advantage which I derived 
from these two engravings, together with occasionally 
riding on horseback, restored me to as much health 
as I can expect at my time of life." 

And so he concludes his queer little book of Anec- 
dotes, (S I have gone through the circumstances of a 
life which till lately passed pretty much to my own 
satisfaction, and I hope in no respect injurious to any 
other man. This I may safely assert, that I have 
done my best to make those about me tolerably happy, 
and my greatest enemy cannot say I ever did an 
intentional injury. What may follow, God knows." 

A queer account still exists of a holiday jaunt 
taken by Hogarth and four friends of his, who set 
out, like the redoubted Mr. Pickwick and his com- 
panions, but just a hundred years before those heroes ; 
and made an excursion to Gravesend, Rochester, 
Sheerness, and adjacent places. 1 One of the gentle- 
men noted down the proceedings of the journey, for 

1 He made this excursion in 1732, his companions being John 
Thornhill (son of Sir James), Scott the landscape-painter, Tolhail, 
and Forrest. 



HOGAKTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 255 

which Hogarth and a brother artist made drawings. 
The book is chiefly curious at this moment from 
showing the citizen life of those days, and the rough 
jolly style of merriment, not of the five companions 
merely, but of thousands of jolly fellows of their 
time. Hogarth and his friends quitting the Bedford 
Arms, Covent Garden, with a song, took water to 
Billingsgate, exchanging compliments with the barge- 
men as they went down the river. At Billingsgate, 
Hogarth made " a caracatura" of a facetious porter, 
called the Duke of Puddledock, who agreeably enter- 
tained the party with the humours of the place. Hence 
they took a Gravesend boat for themselves ; had straw 
to lie upon, and a tilt over their heads, they say, and 
went down the river at night, sleeping and singing 
jolly choruses. 

They arrived at Gravesend at six, when they 
washed their faces and hands, and had their wigs 
powdered. Then they sallied forth for Rochester on 
foot, and drank by the way three pots of ale. At one 
o'clock they went to dinner with excellent port, and 
a quantity more beer, and afterwards Hogarth and 
Scott played at hopscotch in the town hall. It would 
appear that they slept most of them in one room, and 
the chronicler of the party describes them all as 
waking at seven o'clock, and telling each other their 
dreams. You have rough sketches by Hogarth of 
the incidents of this holiday excursion. The sturdy 



256 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

little painter is seen sprawling over a plank to a boat 
at Gravesend; the whole company are represented 
in one design, in a fisherman's room, where they had 
all passed the night. One gentleman in a nightcap 
is shaving himself; another is being shaved by the 
fisherman ; a third, with a handkerchief over his bald 
pate, is taking his breakfast ; and Hogarth is sketch- 
ing the whole scene. 

They describe at night how they returned to their 
quarters, drank to their friends, as usual, emptied 
several cans of good flip, all singing merrily. 

It is a jolly party of tradesmen engaged at high- 
jinks. These were the manners and pleasures of 
Hogarth, of his time very likely, of men not very 
refined, but honest and merry. It is a brave London 
citizen, with John Bull habits, prejudices, and 
pleasures. 1 

1 "Dr. Johnson made four lines once, on the death of poor 
Hogarth, which were equally true and pleasing : I know not why 
Garrick's were preferred to them : — 

" ' The hand of him here torpid lies, 
That drew th' essential forms of grace; 
Here, closed in death, th' attentive eyes, 
That saw the manners in the face.' 
" Mr. Hogarth, among the variety of kindnesses shown to me 
when I was too young to have a proper sense of them, was used to 
be very earnest that I should obtain the acquaintance, and if pos- 
sible the friendship, of Dr. Johnson ; whose conversation was, to 
the talk of other men, like Titian's painting compared to Hudson's, 
he said: 'but don't you tell people now that I say so (continued 
he) for the connoisseurs and I are at war, you know; and because 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING, 257 

Of Smollett's associates and manner of life the 
author of the admirable " Humphrey Clinker," has 
given us an interesting account, in that most amusing 
of novels. 1 

I hate them, they think I hate Titian — and let them! ' ... Of 
Dr. Johnson, when my father and he were talking about him one 
day, ' That man (says Hogarth) is not contented with believing 
the Bible ; but he fairly resolves, I think, to beneve nothing but 
the Bible. Johnson (added he), though so wise a fellow, is more 
like King David than King Solomon, for he says in his haste, all 
men are liars.' " — Mrs. Piozzi. 

Hogarth died on the 26th of October, 1764. The day before his 
death, he was removed from his villa at Chiswick to Leicester 
Fields, "in a very weak condition, yet remarkably cheerful." He 
had just received an agreeable letter from Franklin. He lies 
jburied at Chiswick. 

1 TO SIR WATKIN PHILLIPS, BART., OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXON". 

" Dear Phillips, — In my last, I mentioned my having spent an 
evening with a society of authors, who seemed to be jealous and 
afraid of one another. My uncle was not at all surprised to hear 
me say I was disappointed in their conversation. ' A man may be 
very entertaining and instructive upon paper,' said he, 'and 
exceedingly dull in common discourse. I have observed, that 
those who shine most in private company are but secondary stars 
in the constellation of genius. A small stock of ideas is more 
easily managed, and sooner displayed, than a great quantity 
crowded together. There is very seldom anything extraordinary 
in the appearance and address of a good writer; whereas a dull 
author generally distinguishes himself by some oddity or extrava- 
gance. For this reason I fancy that an assembly of grubs must 
be very diverting.' 

" My curiosity being excited by this hint, I consulted my friend 
Dick Ivy, who undertook to gratify it the very next day, which was 

Sunday last. He carried me to'dine with S , whom you and 

I have long known by his -writings. He lives in the skirts of the 
town; and every Sunday his house is open to all unfortunate 
brothers of the quill, whom he treats with beef, pudding, and 
potatoes, port, punch, and Calvert's entire butt beer. He has 



258 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

I have no doubt that the above picture is as faith- 
ful a one as any from the pencil of his kindred 
humourist, Hogarth. 

fixed upon the first day of the week for the exercise of his hospi- 
tality, "because some of his guests could not enjoy it on any other, 
for reasons that I need not explain. I was civilly received in a 
plain, yet decent habitation, which opened backwards into a very 
pleasant garden, kept in excellent order; and, indeed, I saw none 
of the outward signs of authorship either in the house or the land- 
lord, who is one of those few writers of the age that stand upon 
their own foundation, without patronage, and above dependence. 
If there was nothing characteristic in the entertainer, the company 
made ample amends for his want of singularity. 

" At two in the afternoon, I found myself one of ten messmates 
seated at table ; and I question if the whole kingdom could pro- 
duce such another assemblage of originals. Among their pecu- 
liarities, I do not mention those of dress, which may be purely 
accidental. What struck me were oddities originally produced by 
affectation, and afterwards confirmed by habit. One of them wore 
spectacles at dinner, and another his hat flapped; though (as Ivy 
told me) the first was noted for having a seaman's eye, when a 
bailiff was in the wind; and the other was never known to labour 
under any weakness or defect of vision, except about five years 
ago, when he was complimented with a couple of black eyes by a 
player, with whom he had quarrelled in his drink. A third wore 
a laced stocking, and made use of crutches, because, once in his 
life, he had been laid up with a broken leg, though no man could 
leap over a stick with more agility. A fourth had contracted 
such an antipathy to the country, that he insisted upon sitting 
with his back towards the window that looked into the garden ; 
and when a dish of cauliflower was set upon the table, he snuffed 
up volatile salts to keep him from fainting ; yet this delicate 
person was the son of a cottager, born under a hedge, and had 
many years run wild among asses on a common. A fifth affected 
distraction : when spoke to, he always answered from the purpose. 
Sometimes he suddenly started up, and rapped out a dreadful oath; 
sometimes he burst out a laughing ; then he folded his arms, 
and sighed ; and then he hissed like fifty serpents. 



SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 259 

We have before us, and painted by his own hand, 
Tobias Smollett, the manly, kindly, honest, and 



" At first, I really thought he was mad ; and, as he sat near me, 
began to be under some apprehensions for my own safety ; when 
our landlord, perceiving me alarmed, assured me aloud that I had 
nothing to fear. 'The gentleman,' said he, 'is trying to act a 
part for which he is by no means qualified : if he had all the 
inclination in the world, it is not in his power to be mad ; his 
'spirits are too flat to be kindled into phrenzy.' ' ? T is no bad 
p-p-puff, how-owever,' observed a person in a tarnished laced 
coat : ' aff-ffected m-madness w~will p-pass for w-wit w-with 
nine-nineteen out of t-twenty.' 'And affected stuttering for 
humour/ replied our landlord ; ' though, God knows ! there is no 
affinity betwixt them.' It seems this wag, after having made 
some abortive attempts in plain speaking, had recourse to this 
defect, by means of which he frequently extorted the laugh of the 
company, without the least expense of genius ; and that imperfec- 
tion, which he had at first counterfeited, was now become so 
habitual, that he could not lay it aside. 

"A certain winking genius, who wore yellow gloves at dinner, 

had, on his first introduction, taken such offence at S , because 

he looked and talked, and ate and drank, like any other man, 
that he spoke contemptuously of his understanding ever after, 
and never would repeat his visit, until he had exhibited the 
following proof of his caprice. Wat Wyvil, the poet, having 
made some unsuccessful advances towards an intimacy with 

S , at last gave him to understand, by a third person, that 

he had written a poem in his praise, and a satire against his 
person : that if he would admit him to his house, the first should 
be immediately sent to press ; but that if he persisted in declining 

his friendship, he would publish the satire without delay. S 

replied, that he looked upon Wy vil's panegyric as, in effect, a species 
of infamy, and would resent it accordingly with a good cudgel ; 
but if he published the satire, he might deserve his compassion, 
and had nothing to fear from his revenge. Wyvil having con- 
sidered the alternative, resolved to mortify S — — by printing the 
panegyric, for which he received a sound drubbing. Then he 
swore the peace against the aggressor, who, in order to avoid a 

S 2 



260 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

irascible ; worn and battered, but still brave and full 
of heart, after a long struggle against a hard fortune. 

prosecution at law, admitted him to his good graces. It was the 
singularity in S — — 's conduct on this occasion, that reconciled 
him to the yellow-gloved philosopher, who owned he had some 
genius ; and from that period cultivated his acquaintance. 

" Curious to know upon what subjects the several talents of my 
fellow-guests were employed, I applied to my communicative 
friend Dick Ivy, who gave me to understand that most of them 
were, or had been, understrappers, or journeymen, to more credit- 
able authors, for whom they translated, collated, and compiled, in 
the business of bookmaking ; and that all of them had, at different 
times, laboured in the service of our landlord, though they had 
now set up for themselves in various departments of literature. 
Not only their talents, but also their nations and dialects, were so 
various, that our conversation resembled the confusion of tongues 
at Babel. We had the Irish brogue, the Scotch accent, and foreign 
idiom, twanged off by the most discordant vociferation ; for as 
they all spoke together, no man had any chance to be heard, 
unless he could bawl louder than his fellows. It must be owned, 
however, there was nothing pedantic in their discourse ; they 
carefully avoided all learned disquisitions, and endeavoured to 
be facetious : nor did their endeavours always miscarry ; some 
droll repartee passed, and much laughter was excited ; and if any 
individual lost his temper so far as to transgress the bounds 
of decorum, he was effectually checked by the master of the 
feast, who exerted a sort of paternal authority over this irritable 
tribe. 

"The most learned philosopher of the whole collection, who 
had been expelled the university for atheism, has made great 
progress in a refutation of Lord Bolingbroke's metaphysical works, 
which is said to be equally ingenious and orthodox : but in the 
mean time, he has been presented to the grand jury as a public 
nuisance for having blasphemed in an alehouse on the Lord's-day. 
The Scotchman gives lectures on the pronunciation of the English 
language, which he is now publishing by subscription. 

" The Irishman is a political writer, and goes by the name of 
My Lord Potatoe. He wrote a pamphlet in vindication of a 



HOGAETE, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 261 

His brain had been busied with a hundred different 
schemes ; he had been reviewer and historian, critic, 

Minister, hoping his zeal would be rewarded with some place or 
pension ; but finding himself neglected in that quarter, he whis- 
pered about that the pamphlet was written by the Minister himself, 
and he published an answer to his own production. In this he 
addressed the author under the title of 'your lordship,' with such 
solemnity, that the public swallowed the deceit, and bought up 
the whole impression. The wise politicians of the metropolis 
declared they were both masterly performances, and chuckled 
over the flimsy reveries of an ignorant garretteer, as the profound 
speculations of a veteran statesman, acquainted with all the secrets 
of the cabinet. The imposture was detected in the sequel, and 
our Hibernian pamphleteer retains no part of his assumed im- 
portance but the bare title of ' my lord,' and the upper part of 
the table at the potatoe-ordinary in Shoe -lane. 

" Opposite to me sat a Piedmontese, who had obliged the public 
with a humourous satire, entitled ' The Balance of the English 
Poets ; ' a performance which evinced the great modesty and taste 
of the author, and, in particular, his intimacy with the elegancies 
of the English language. The sage, who laboured under the 
aypo<po(3ia, or ' horror of green fields,' had just finished a treatise 
on practical agriculture, though, in fact, he had never seen corn 
growing in his life, and was so ignorant of grain, that our enter- 
tainer, in the face of the whole company, made him own that a 
plate of hominy was the best rice-pudding he had ever eat. 

" The stutterer had almost finished his travels through Europe 
and part of Asia, without ever budging beyond the liberties of 
the King's-beneh, except in term-time, with a tipstaff for his 
companion: and as for little Tim Cropdale, the most facetious 
member of the whole society, he had happily wound up the 
catastrophe of a virgin tragedy, from the exhibition of which he 
promised himself a large fund of profit and reputation. Tim 
had made shift to live many years by writing novels, at the rate 
of five pounds a volume ; but that branch of business is now 
engrossed by female authors, who publish merely for the propa- 
gation of virtue, with so much ease, and spirit, and delicacy, and 
knowledge of the human heart, and all in the serene tranquillity 



262 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

medical writer, poet, pamphleteer. He had fought 
endless literary battles ; and braved and wielded for 
years the cudgels of controversy. It was a hard and 
savage fight in those days, and a niggard pay. He 
was oppressed by illness, age, narrow fortune; but 
his spirit was still resolute, and his courage steady ; 
the battle over, he could do justice to the enemy 
with whom he had been so fiercely engaged, and 
give a not unfriendly grasp to the hand that had 
mauled him. He is like one of those Scotch cadets, 



of high life, that the reader is not only enchanted by their genius, 
hut reformed by their morality. 

" After dinner, we adjourned into the garden, where I observed 

Mr. S give a short separate audience to every individual in a 

small remote filbert- walk, from whence most of them dropped off 
one after another, without further ceremony." 

Smollett's house was in Lawrence-lane, Chelsea, and is now 
destroyed. See Handbook of London, p. 115. 

" The person of Smollett was eminently handsome, his features 
prepossessing, and, by the joint testimony of all his surviving 
friends, his conversation, in the highest degree, instructive and 
amusing. Of his disposition, those who have read his works 
(and who has not?) may form a very accurate estimate; for in 
each of them he has presented, and sometimes, under various 
points of view, the leading features of his own character without 

disguising the most unfavourable of them When un- 

seduced by his satirical propensities, he was kind, generous, and 
humane to others ; bold, upright, and independent in his own 
character ; stooped to no patron, sued for no favour, but honestly 

and honourably maintained himself on his literary labours 

He was a doating father, and an affectionate husband ; and the 
warm zeal with which his memory was cherished by his surviving 
friends, showed clearly the reliance which they placed upon his 
regard."— Sir Walter Scott. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING}. 263 

of whom history gives us so many examples, and 
whom, with a national fidelity, the great Scotch 
novelist has painted so charmingly. Of gentle birth 1 
and narrow means, going out from his northern home 

1 Smollett of Bonhill, in Dumbartonshire. Arms, az. " a bend, 
or, between a lion rampant, ppr, holding in his paw a banner, 

arg and a bugle-horn, also ppr. Crest, an oak-tree, ppr. 

Motto, Viresco." 

Smollett's father, Archibald, was the fourth son of Sir James 
Smollett of Bonhill, a Scotch judge and member of Parliament, 
and one of the commissioners for framing the Union with England. 
Archibald married, without the old gentleman's consent, and 
died early, leaving his children dependent on their grandfather. 
Tobias, the second son, was born in 1721, in the old house of 
Dalquharn in the valley of Leven ; and all his life loved and 
admired that valley and Loch Lomond beyond all the valleys and 
lakes in Europe. He learned the "rudiments" at Dumbarton 
Grammar- school, and studied at Glasgow. 

But when he was only eighteen, his grandfather died, and left 
Mm without provision (figuring as the old judge in "Koderick 
Random" in consequence, according to Sir Walter). Tobias, 
armed with the "Regicide," a tragedy — a provision precisely 
similar to that with which Dr. Johnson had started, just before — 
came up to London. The "Regicide" came to no good, though 
at first patronized by Lord Lyttelton (" one of those little fellows 
who are sometimes called great men," Smollett says) ; and 
Smollett embarked as " surgeon's mate" on board a line-of-battle 
ship, and served in the Carthagena expedition, in 1741. He left 
the service in the West Indies, and, after residing some time in 
Jamaica, returned to England in 1746. 

He was now unsuccessful as a physician, to begin with ; pub- 
lished the satires. "Advice'' and "Reproof" — without any luck; 
and (1747) married the "beautiful and accomplished Miss Las- 
celles." 

In 1748 he brought out his "Roderick Random," which at once 
made a "hit." The subsequent events of his life may be pre- 
sented, chronologically, in a bird's-eye view : — 



264 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

to win his fortune in the worlds and to fight his way, 
armed with courage, hunger, and keen wits. His 
crest is a shattered oak tree, with green leaves yet 
springing from it. On his ancient coat-of-arms there 
is a lion and a horn ; this shield of his was battered 
and dinted in a hundred fights and brawls, 1 through 
which the stout Scotchman bore it courageously. 

1750. Made a tour to Paris, where lie chiefly wrote "Peregrine 
Pickle." 

1751. Published "Peregrine Pickle." 

1753. Published "Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom." 

1755. Published version of "Don Quixote." 

1756. Began the " Critical Review." 
1758. Published his "History of England." 

1763 — 1766. Travelling in France and Italy ; published his 
" Travels." 

1769. Published "Adventures of an Atom." 

1770. Set out for Italy; died at Leghorn 21st of Oct., 1771, in 
the fifty -first year of his age. 

1 A good specimen of the old " slashing " style of writing is 
presented by the paragraph on Admiral Knowles, which subjected 
Smollett to prosecution and imprisonment. The admiral's defence 
on the occasion of the failure of the Eochfort expedition came to 
be examined before the tribunal of the " Critical Review." 

" He is," said our author, " an admiral without conduct, an 
engineer without knowledge, an officer without resolution, and a 
man without veracity ! " 

Three months' imprisonment in the King's Bench avenged tluV 
stinging paragraph. 

But the "Critical" was to Smollett a perpetual fountain of 
"hot water."* Among less important controversies may be men- 
tioned that with Grainger, the translator of " Tibullus." Grainger 
replied in a pamphlet ; and in the next number of the " Review " 
Ave find him threatened with " castigation," as an " owl that has 
broken from his mew ! " 

In Dr. Moore's biography of him is a pleasant anecdote. After 



HOGAKTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 265 

You see somehow that he is a gentleman, through 
all his battling and struggling, his poverty, his hard- 
fought successes, and his defeats. His novels are 
recollections of his own adventures ; his characters 
drawn, as I should think, from personages with 
whom he became acquainted in his own career of 
life. Strange companions he must have had ; queer 
acquaintances he made in the Glasgow College — in 
the country apothecary's shop; in the gun-room of 
the man-of-war where he served as surgeon, and in 
the hard life on shore, where the sturdy adventurer 
struggled for fortune. He did not invent much, as 
I fancy, but had the keenest perceptive faculty, and 
described what he saw with wonderful relish and 

publishing the "Don Quixote," he returned to Scotland to pay a 
visit to his mother : — 

" On Smollett's arrival, he was introduced to his mother with 
the connivance of Mrs. Telfer (her daughter), as a gentleman from 
the "West Indies, who was intimately acquainted with her son. 
The better to support his assumed character, he endeavoured to 
preserve a serious countenance, approaching to a frown ; but 
while his mother's eyes were riveted on his countenance, he could 
not refrain from smiling : she immediately sprung from her chair, 
and throwing her arms round his neck, exclaimed, 'Ah, my son ! 
my son ! I have found you at last ! ' 

" She afterwards told him, that if he had kept his austere looks 
and continued to gloom, he might have escaped detection some 
time longer, but 'your old roguish smile,' added she, 'betrayed 
you at once.' " 

" Shortly after the publication of ' The Adventures of an Atom,' 
disease again attacked Smollett with redoubled violence. Attempts 
being vainly made to obtain for him the office of Consul in some 
part of the Mediterranean, he was compelled to seek a warmer 



266 ENGLISH HTJMOtmiSTS. 

delightful broad humour. I think Uncle Bowling, 
in " Roderick Random," is as good a character as 
Squire Western himself; and Mr. Morgan, the Welsh 
apothecary, is as pleasant as Dr. Caius. What man 
who has made his inestimable acquaintance — what 
novel reader who loves Don Quixote and Major 
Dalgetty — will refuse his most cordial acknowledg- 
ments to the admirable Lieutenant Lismahago. The 
novel of " Humphrey Clinker " is, I do think, the 
most laughable story that has ever been written since 
the goodly art of novel-writing began. Winifred 
Jenkins and Tabitha Bramble must keep Englishmen 
on the grin for ages yet to come ; and in their letters 
and the story of their loves there is a perpetual 
fount of sparkling laughter, as inexhaustible as 
Bladud's well. 

Fielding, too, has described, though with a greater 
hand, the characters and scenes which he knew 
and saw. He had more than ordinary opportunities 
for becoming acquainted with life. His family and 

climate, without better means of provision than his own precarious 
finances could afford. The kindness of his distinguished friend 
and countryman, Dr. Armstrong (then abroad), procured for Dr. 
and Mrs. Smollett a house at Monte Nero, a village situated on 
the side of a mountain overlooking the sea, in the neighbourhood 
of Leghorn, a romantic and salutary abode, where he prepared for 
the press, the last, and like music ' sweetest in the close,' the 
most pleasing of his compositions, ' The Expedition of Humphrey 
Clinker.' This delightful work was published in 1771." — Sir 
"Walter Scott. 



HO&ARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 267 

education, first — his fortunes and misfortunes after- 
wards, brought him into the society of every rank 
and condition of man. He is himself the hero of 
his books : he is wild Tom Jones, he is wild Captain 
Booth, less wild, I am glad to think, than his prede- 
cessor, at least heartily conscious of demerit, and 
anxious to amend. 

When Fielding first came upon the town in 1727, 
the recollection of the great wits was still fresh in 
the coffee-houses and assemblies, and the judges 
there declared that young Harry Fielding had more 
spirits and wit than Congreve or any of his brilliant 
successors. His figure was tall and stalwart; his face 
handsome, manly, and noble-looking ; to the very last 
days of his life he retained a grandeur of air, and, 
although worn down by disease, his aspect and presence 
imposed respect upon the people round about him. 

A dispute took place between Mr. Fielding and 
the captain 1 of the ship in which he was making his 



1 The dispute with the captain arose from the wish of that 
functionary to intrude on his right to his cabin, for which he had 
paid thirty pounds. After recounting the circumstances of the 
apology, he characteristically adds : — 

" And here, that I may not be thought the sly trumpeter of my 
own praises, I do utterly disclaim all praise on the occasion. 
Neither did the greatness of my mind dictate, nor the force of 
ray Christianity exact this forgiveness. To speak truth, I forgave 
him from a motive which would make men much more forgiving, 
if they were much wiser than they are; because it was convenient 
for me so to do." 



268 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

last voyage, and Fielding relates how the man finally 
went down on his knees and begged his passenger's 
pardon. He was living up to the last days of his 
life, and his spirit never gave in. His vital power 
must have been immensely strong. Lady Mary 
Wortley Montagu 1 prettily characterises Fielding 
and this capacity for happiness which he possessed, 
in a little notice of his death, when she compares him 
to Steele, who was as improvident and as happy as 
he was, and says that both should have gone on 



1 Lady Mary was Ms second cousin — their respective grand- 
fathers being sons of George Fielding, Earl of Desmond, son of 
William, Earl of Denbigh. 

In a letter dated just a week before his death, she says — 

"H. Eielding has given a true picture of himself and his first 

wife in the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Booth, some compliments 

to his own figure excepted ; and I am persuaded, several of the 

incidents he mentions are real matters of fact. I wonder he does 

not perceive Tom Jones and Mr. Booth are sorry scoundrels 

Eielding has really a fund of true humour, and was to be pitied 
at his first entrance into the world, having no choice, as he said 
himself, but to be a hackney writer or a hackney coachman. His 
genius deserved a better fate ; but I cannot help blaming that 
continued indiscretion, to give it the softest name, that has run 

through his life, and I am afraid still remains Since I 

was born no original has appeared excepting Congreve, and 
Eielding, who would, I believe, have approached nearer to his 
excellencies, if not forced by his necessities to publish without 
correction, and throw many productions into the world he would 
have thrown into the fire, if meat could have been got without 

money, or money without scribbling I am sorry not to 

see any more of Peregrine Pickle's performances ; I wish you would 
tell me his name." — Letters and Works, (Lord Wharncliffe's Ed.), 
vol. hi. p. 93, 94. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 269 

living for ever. One can fancy the eagerness and 
gusto with which a man of Fielding's frame, with 
his vast health and robust appetite, his ardent spirits, 
his joyful humour, and his keen and hearty relish 
for life, must have seized and drunk that cup of 
pleasure which the town offered to him. Can any 
of my hearers remember the youthful feats of a 
college breakfast — the meats devoured and the cups 
quaffed in that Homeric feast ? I can call to mind 
some of the heroes of those youthful banquets, and 
fancy young Fielding from Leyden rushing upon 
the feast, with his great laugh and immense healthy 
young appetite, eager and vigorous to enjoy. The 
young man's wit and manners made him friends 
everywhere : he lived with the grand Man's society 
of those days ; he was courted by peers and men of 
wealth and fashion; As he had a paternal allowance 
from his father, General Fielding, which, to use 
Henry's own phrase, any man might pay who 
would; as he liked good wine, good clothes, and 
good company, which are all expensive articles to 
purchase, Harry Fielding began to run into debt, 
and borrow money in that easy manner in which 
Captain Booth borrows money in the novel : was in 
nowise particular in accepting a few pieces from the 
purses of his rich friends, and bore down upon more 
than one of them, as Walpole tells us only too truly, 
for a dinner or a guinea. To supply himself with 



270 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the latter, lie began to write theatrical pieces, 
having already, no doubt, a considerable acquaint- 
ance amongst the Oldfields and Bracegirdles behind 
the scenes. He laughed at these pieces and scorned 
them. When the audience upon one occasion began 
to hiss a scene which he was too lazy to correct, and 
regarding which, when Garrick remonstrated with 
him, he said that the public was too stupid to find 
out the badness of his work; — when the audience 
began to hiss, Fielding said, with characteristic cool- 
ness — "They have found it out, have they?" He 
did not prepare his novels in this way, and with a 
very different care and interest laid the foundations 
and built up the edifices of his future fame. 

Time and shower have very little damaged those. 
The fashion and ornaments are, perhaps, of the 
architecture of that age; but the buildings remain 
strong and lofty, and of admirable proportions — 
masterpieces of genius and monuments of workman- 
like skill. 

I cannot offer or hope to make a hero of Harry 
Fielding. Why hide his faults ? Why conceal his 
weaknesses in a cloud of periphrases? Why not 
show him, like him as he is, not robed in a marble 
toga, and draped and polished in a heroic attitude, 
but with inked ruffles, and claret stains on his 
tarnished laced coat, and on his manly face the 
marks of good fellowship, of illness, of kindness, 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 271 

of care, and wine. Stained as you see him, and 
worn by care and dissipation, that man retains some 
of the most precious and splendid human qualities 
and endowments. He has an admirable natural 
love of truth, the keenest instinctive antipathy to 
hypocrisy, the happiest satirical gift of laughing it 
to scorn. His wit is wonderfully wise and detective ; 
it flashes upon a rogue and lightens up a rascal like 
a policeman's lantern. He is one of the manliest 
and kindliest of human beings : in the midst of all 
his imperfections, he respects female innocence and 
infantine tenderness, as you would suppose such a 
great-hearted, courageous soul would respect and 
care for them. He could not be so brave, generous, 
truth-telling as he is, were he not infinitely merciful, 
pitiful, and tender. He will give any man his purse 
— he can't help kindness and profusion. He may 
have low tastes, but not a mean mind ; he admires 
with all his heart good and virtuous men, stoops to 
no flattery, bears no rancour, disdains all disloyal 
arts, does his public duty uprightly, is fondly loved 
by his family, and dies at his work. 1 

If that theory be — and I have no doubt it is — the 
right and safe one, that human nature is always 
pleased with the spectacle of innocence rescued by 



1 He sailed for Lisbon, from Gravesend, on Sunday morning, 
June 30th, 1754 ; and began "The Journal of a Voyage " during 
the passage. He died at Lisbon, in the beginning of October of 



272 ENQLISH HUMOURISTS. 

fidelity, purity, and courage; I suppose that of the 
heroes of Fielding's three novels, we should like 
honest Joseph Andrews the best, and Captain Booth 
the second, and Tom Jones the third. 1 

Joseph Andrews, though he wears Lady Booby's 
cast-off livery, is, I think, to the full as polite as 
I Tom Jones in his fustian-suit, or Captain Booth in 
regimentals. He has, like those heroes, large calves, 
broad shoulders, a high courage, and a handsome 
face. The accounts of Joseph's bravery and good 
qualities; his voice, too musical to halloo to the 
dogs ; his bravery in riding races for the gentlemen 
of the county, and his constancy in refusing bribes 
and temptation, have something affecting in their 
naivete and freshness, and prepossess one in favour 
of that handsome young hero. The rustic bloom of 
Fanny, and the delightful simplicity of Parson 
Adams are described with a friendliness which wins 
the reader of their story ; we part with them with 
more regret than from Booth and Jones. 

Fielding, no doubt, began to write this novel in 



the same year. He lies buried there, in the English Protestant 
churchyard, near the Estrella Church, with this inscription over 
him : — 

a HENRICUS FIELDING, 

LUGET BRITANNIA GREMIO NON DATUM 

EOVERE NATUM." 

1 Fielding himself is said by Dr. Warton to have preferred 
" Joseph Andrews " to his other writings. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING, 273 

ridicule of (i Pamela," for which work one can under- 
stand the hearty contempt and antipathy which such 
an athletic and boisterous genius as Fielding's must 
have entertained. He couldn't do otherwise than 
laugh at the puny cockney bookseller, pouring out 
endless volumes of sentimental twaddle, and hold 
him up to scorn as a moll-coddle and a milksop. His 
genius had been nursed on sack-posset, and not on 
dishes of tea. His muse had sung the loudest in 
tavern choruses, had seen the daylight streaming in 
over thousands of emptied bowls, and reeled home 
to chambers on the shoulders of the watchman. 
Richardson's goddess was attended by old maids and 
dowagers, and fed on muffins and bohea. " Milksop I" 
roars Harry Fielding, clattering at the timid shop- 
shutters. " Wretch ! Monster ! Mohock !" shrieks the 
sentimental author of "Pamela;" 1 and all the ladies 
of his court cackle out an affrighted chorus. Fielding 
proposes to write a book in ridicule of the author, 
whom he disliked and utterly scorned and laughed 

1 " Richardson," says worthy Mrs. Barbauld, in her Memoir of 
/him, prefixed to his Correspondence, "was exceedingly hurt at 
this (' Joseph Andrews '), the more so as they had heen on good 
terms, and he was very intimate with Fielding's two sisters. He 
never appears cordially to have forgiven it (perhaps it was not in 
human nature he should), and he always speaks in his letters 
with a great deal of asperity of ' Tom Jones/ more indeed than 
was quite graceful in a rival author. No doubt he himself thought 
his indignation was solely excited by the loose morality of the 
work and of its author, but he could tolerate Cibber." 

T 



274 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

at; but he is himself of so generous, jovial, and 
kindly a turn that he begins to like the characters 
which he invents, can't help making them manly 
and pleasant as well as ridiculous, and before he 
has done with them all loves them heartily every 
one. 

Richardson's sickening antipathy for Harry Fielding 
is quite as natural as the other's laughter and con- 
tempt at the sentimentalist. I have not learned that 
these likings and dislikings have ceased in the present 
day : and every author must lay his account not 
only to misrepresentation but to honest enmity 
among critics, and to being hated and abused for 
good as well as for bad reasons. Richardson dis- 
liked Fielding's works quite honestly : Walpole quite 
honestly spoke of them as vulgar and stupid. Their 
squeamish stomachs sickened at the rough fare and 
the rough guests assembled at Fielding's jolly revel. 
Indeed the cloth might have been cleaner: and the 
dinner and the company were scarce such as suited 
a dandy. The kind and wise old Johnson would 
not sit down with him. 1 But a greater scholar than 
Johnson could afford to admire that astonishing genius 



1 It must always be borne in mind, that besides that the Doctor 
couldn't be expected to like Fielding's wild life (to say nothing of 
the fact, that they were of opposite sides in politics), Richardson 
was one of liis earliest and kindest friends. Yet Johnson too (as 
Boswell tells us) read " Amelia" through without " stopping." 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT,, AND FIELDING. 275 

of Harry Fielding : and we all know the lofty pane- 
gyric which Gibbon wrote of him, and which remains 
a towering monument to the great novelist's memory. 
"Our immortal Fielding," Gibbon writes, "was of 
the younger branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who 
drew their origin from the Counts of Hapsburgh. 
The successors of Charles Y. may disdain their 
brethren of England : but the romance of 6 Tom 
Jones,' that exquisite picture of human manners, 
will outlive the palace of the Escurial and the Im- 
perial Eagle of Austria." 

There can be no gainsaying the sentence of this 
great judge. To have your name mentioned by 
Gibbon, is like having it written on the dome of 
St. Peter's. Pilgrims from all the world admire and 
behold it. 

As a picture of manners, the novel of " Tom 
Jones " is indeed exquisite : as a work of construction 
quite a wonder : the by-play of wisdom ; the power 
of observation ; the multiplied felicitous turns and 
thoughts ; the varied character of the great Comic 
Epic ; keep the reader in a perpetual admiration and 
curiosity. 1 But against Mr. Thomas Jones himself 

1 "Manners change from generation to generation, and with 
manners morals appear to change — actually change with some, but 
appear to change with all but the abandoned. A young man of the 
present day who should act as Tom Jones is supposed to act at 
Upton, with Lady Bellaston, &c, would not be a Tom Jones ; 
and a Tom Jones of the present day, without perhaps being in 

T 2 



276 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

we have a right to put in a protest, and quarrel with 
the esteem the author evidently has for that character. 
Charles Lamb says finely of Jones, that a single 
hearty laugh from him " clears the air " — but then 
it is in a certain state of the atmosphere. It might 
clear the air when such personages as Blifil or Lady 
Bellaston poison it. But I fear very much that 
(except until the very last scene of the story), when 
Mr. Jones enters Sophia's drawing-room, the pure 
air there is rather tainted with the young gentleman's 
tobacco-pipe and punch. I can't say that I think 
Mr. Jones a virtuous character ; I can't say but that 
I think Fielding's evident liking and admiration for 
Mr. Jones, shows that the great humourist's moral 
sense was blunted by his life, and that here in Art 
and Ethics, there is a great error. If it is right 
to have a hero whom we may admire, let us at least 
take care that he is admirable : if, as is the plan of 

the ground a better man, would have perished rather than submit 
to be kept by a harridan of fortune. Therefore, this novel is, 
and indeed, pretends to be, no example of conduct. But, not- 
withstanding all this, I do loathe the cant which can recommend 
"Pamela" and "Clarissa Harlowe" as strictly moral, although 
they poison the imagination of the young with continued doses of 
tinct. lyttce, while Tom Jones is prohibited as loose. I do not speak 
of young women ; but a young man whose heart or feelings can 
be injured, or even his passions excited by this novel, is already 
thoroughly corrupt. There is a cheerful, sunshiny, breezy spirit, 
that prevails everywhere, strongly contrasted with the close, hot, 
day-dreamy continuity of Kichardson." — Coleridge, Literary 
Remains, vol. ii. p. 374. 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 277 

some authors (a plan decidedly against their interests, 
be it said), it is propounded that there exists in life 
no such being, and therefore that in novels, the 
picture of life, there should appear no such character ; 
then Mr. Thomas Jones becomes an admissible person, 
and we examine his defects and good qualities, as we 
do those of Parson Thwackum, or Miss Seagrim. 
But a hero with a flawed reputation ; a hero spungirig 
for a guinea ; a hero who can't pay his landlady, and 
is obliged to let his honour out to hire, is absurd, 
and his claim to heroic rank untenable. I protest 
against Mr. Thomas Jones holding such rank at all. 
I protest even against his being considered a more 
than ordinary young fellow, ruddy-cheeked, broad- 
shouldered, and fond of wine and pleasure. He 
would not rob a church, but that is all ; and a pretty 
long argument may be debated, as to which of these 
old types, the spendthrift, the hypocrite, Jones and 
Blifil, Charles and Joseph Surface, — is the worst 
member of society and the most deserving of censure. 
The prodigal Captain Booth is a better man than 
his predecessor Mr. Jones, in so far as he thinks 
much more humbly of himself than Jones did : goes 
down on his knees, and owns his weaknesses, and 
cries out " Not for my sake, but for the .sake of my 
pure and sweet and beautiful wife Amelia, I pray 
you, O critical reader, to forgive me." That stern 
moralist regards him from the bench (the judge's 



278 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS, 

practice out of court is not here the question), and 
says, " Captain Booth, it is perfectly true that your 
life has been disreputable, and that on many occasions 
you have shown yourself to be no better than a 
scamp — you have been tippling at the tavern, when 
the kindest and sweetest lady in the world has 
cooked your little supper of boiled mutton and 
awaited you all the night ; you have spoilt the little 
dish of boiled mutton thereby, and caused pangs 
and pains to Amelia's tender heart. 1 You have 



1 "Nor was she (Lady Mary "YVortley Montagu) a stranger to 
that beloved first wife, whose picture he drew in his 'Amelia,' 
when, as she said, even the glowing language he knew how to 
employ, did not do more than justice to the amiable qualities of 
the original, or to her beauty, although this had suffered a little 
from the accident related in the novel — a frightful overturn, which 
destroyed the gristle of her nose. He loved her passionately, and 
she returned his affection 

"His biographers seem to have been shy of disclosing that after 
the death of this charming woman, he married her maid. And 
yet the act was not so discreditable to his character as it may 
sound. The maid had few personal charms, but was an excellent 
creature, devotedly attached to her mistress, and almost broken- 
hearted for her loss. In the first agonies of his own grief, which 
approached to frenzy, he found no relief but from weeping along 
with her ; nor solace Avhen a degree calmer, but in talking to her 
of the angel they mutually regretted. This made her his habitual 
confidential associate, and in process of time he began to think he 
could not give his children a tenderer mother, or secure for himself 
a more faithful housekeeper and nurse. At least, this was what 
he told his friends ; and it is certain that her conduct as his wife 
confirmed it, and fully justified his good opinion." — Letters and 
Works of Lady Mary Worthy Montagu. Edited by Lord Wharn- 
cliffe. Introductory Anecdotes, vol. i. p. 80, 81, 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 279 

got into debt without the means of paying it. You 
have gambled the money with which you ought 
to have paid your rent. You have spent in drink 
or in worse amusements the sums which your 
poor wife has raised upon her little home treasures, 
her own ornaments, and the toys of her children. 
But, you rascal ! you own humbly that you are 
no better than you should be ; you never for 
one moment pretend that you are anything but a 
miserable weak-minded rogue. You do in your heart 
adore that angelic woman, your wife, and for her 
sake, sirrah, you shall have your discharge. Lucky 
for you and for others like you, that in spite of your 
failings and imperfections, pure hearts pity and love 
you. For your wife's sake you are permitted to go 
hence without a remand ; and I beg you, by the way, 
to carry to that angelical lady the expression of the 
cordial respect and admiration of this court." Amelia 
pleads for her husband Will Booth : Amelia pleads 
for her reckless kindly old father, Harry Fielding. To 
have invented that character, is not only a triumph of 
art but it is a good action. They say it was in his own 



Fielding's first wife was Miss Craddock, a young lady from 
Salisbury, with a fortune of 1,500?., whom he married in 1736. 
About the same time he succeeded, himself, to an estate of 200/. 
per annum, and on the joint amount he lived for some time as a 
splendid country gentleman in Derbyshire. Three years brought 
him to the end of his fortune ; when he returned to London, and 
became a student of law. 



280 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

home that Fielding knew her and loved her: and from 
his own wife that he drew the most charming cha- 
racter in English fiction — Fiction ! why fiction ? why 
not history? I know Amelia just as well as Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu. I believe in Colonel Bath 
almost as much as in Colonel Gardiner or the Duke 
of Cumberland. I admire the author of " Amelia," 
and thank the kind master who introduced me to 
that sweet and delightful companion and friend. 
Amelia perhaps is not a better story than "Tom 
Jones," but it has the better ethics; the prodigal 
repents at least, before forgiveness, — whereas that 
odius broad-backed Mr. Jones, carries off his beauty 
with scarce an interval of remorse for his manifold 
errors and short-comings ; and is not half punished 
enough before the great prize of fortune and love 
falls to his share. I am angry with Jones. Too 
much of the plum-cake and rewards of life fall to 
that boisterous, swaggering young scapegrace. Sophia 
actually surrenders without a proper sense of decorum; 
the fond, foolish, palpitating little creature, — "Indeed, 
Mr. Jones," she says, — " it rests with you to appoint 
the day." I suppose Sophia is drawn from life as 
well as Amelia ; and many a young fellow, no better 
than Mr. Thomas Jones, has carried by a coup de 
main the heart of many a kind girl who was a great 
deal too good for him. 
i What a wonderful art ! What an admirable gift 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 281 

of nature, was it by which the author of these tales 
was endowed, "and which enabled him to fix our 
interest, to waken our sympathy, to seize upon our 
credulity, so that we believe in his people — speculate 
gravely upon their faults or their excellencies, prefer 
this one or that, deplore Jones's fondness for drink 
and play, Booth's fondness for play and drink, and 
the unfortunate position of the wives of both gentle- 
men — love and admire those ladies with all our 
hearts, and talk about them as faithfully as if we had 
breakfasted with them this morning in their actual 
drawing-rooms, or should meet them this afternoon 
in the Park ! What a genius ! what a vigour ! what 
a bright-eyed intelligence and observation ! what a 
wholesome hatred for meanness and knavery ! what 
a vast sympathy ! what a cheerfulness ! what a manly 
relish of life ! what a love of human kind ! what a 
poet is here ! — watching, meditating, brooding, creat- 
ing! What multitudes of truths has that man left 
behind him ! What generations he has taught to 
laugh wisely and fairly ! What scholars he has 
formed and accustomed to the exercise of thought- 
ful humour and the manly play of wit ! What a 
courage he had ! 1 What a dauntless and constant 



1 In the "Gentleman's Magazine" for 1786. an anecdote is 
related of Harry Fielding, " in whom," says the correspondent, 
"good-nature and philanthropy in their extreme degree were 
known to be the prominent features." It seems that "some paro- 



282 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

cheerfulness of intellect, that burned bright and 
steady through all the storms of his life, and never 
deserted its last wreck ! It is wonderful to think of 
the pains and misery which the man suffered; the 
pressure of want, illness, remorse which he endured; 
and that the writer was neither malignant nor melan- 
choly, his view of truth never warped, and his 
generous human kindness never surrendered. 1 

chial taxes " for his house in Beaufort Buildings had long been 
demanded by the collector. " At last, Harry went off to Johnson, 
and obtained by a process of literary mortgage the needful sum. 
He was returning with it, when he met an old college chum whom 
he had not seen for many years. He asked the chum to dinner 
with him at a neighbouring tavern; and learning that he was 
in difficulties, emptied the contents of his pocket into his. On 
returning home he was informed that the collector had been twice 
for the money. * Friendship has called for the money and had it/ 
said Fielding, 'let the collector call again.' " 

It is elsewhere told of him, that being in company with the Earl 
of Denbigh, his kinsman, and the conversation turning upon their 
relationship, the Earl asked him how it was that he spelled his 
name " Fielding," and not " Feilding," like the head of the house ? 
" I cannot tell, my lord," said he, K except it be that my branch 
of the family were the first that knew how to spell." 

1 In 1749, he was made Justice of the Peace for Westminster 
and Middlesex, an office then paid by fees, and very laborious, 
without being particularly reputable. It may be seen from his 
own words, in the Introduction to the li Voyage," what kind of 
work devolved upon him, and in what a state he was, during 
these last years ; and still more clearly, how he comported himself 
through all. 

" Whilst I was preparing for my journey, and when I was almost 
fatigued to death with several long examinations, relating to five 
different murders, all committed within the space of a week, by 
different gangs of street-robbers, I received a message from his 
Grace the Duke of Newcastle, by Mr. Carrington, the King's 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 283 

In the quarrel mentioned before, which happened 
on Fielding's last voyage to Lisbon, and when the 

messenger, to attend his Grace the next morning in Lincoln's Inn 
Fields, upon some business of importance: but I excused myself 
from complying with the message, as, besides being lame, I was 
very ill with the geat fatigues I had lately undergone, added to 
my distemper. 

" His Grace, however, sent Mr. Carrington the very next morn- 
ing, with another summons ; with which, though in the utmost 
distress, I immediately complied; but the Duke happening, unfor- 
tunately for me, to be then particularly engaged, after I had 
waited some time, sent a gentleman to discourse with me on the 
best plan which could be invented for these murders and rob- 
beries, which were every day committed in the streets ; upon 
which I promised to transmit my opinion in writing to his Grace, 
who, as the gentleman informed me, intended to lay it before the 
Privy Council. 

" Though this visit cost me a severe cold, I, notwithstanding, 
set myself down to work, and in about four days sent the Duke as 
regular a plan as I could form, with all the reasons and argu- 
ments I could bring to support it, drawn out on several sheets of 
paper; and soon received a message from the Duke, by Mr. Car- 
rington, acquainting me that my plan was highly approved of, and 
that all the terms of it would be complied with. 

" The principal and most material of these terms was the imme- 
diately depositing 600/. in my hands; at which small charge I 
undertook to demolish the then reigning gangs, and to put the 
civil policy into such order, that no such gangs should ever be 
able for the future, to form themselves into bodies, or at least to 
remain any time formidable to the public. 

" I had delayed my Bath journey for some time, contrary to the 
repeated advice of my physical acquaintances, and the ardent 
desire of my warmest friends, though my distemper was now 
turned to a deep jaundice; in which case the Bath waters are 
generally reputed to be almost infallible. But I had the most 
eager desire to demolish this gang of villains and cut-throats. 



After some weeks the money was paid at the Treasury, and 



284 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

stout captain of the ship fell down on his knees and 
asked the sick man's pardon — ff I did not suffer," 
Fielding says, in his hearty, manly way, his eyes 
lighting up as it were with their old fire — "I did not 
suffer a brave man and an old man to remain a mo- 
ment in that posture, but immediately forgave him." 
Indeed, I think, with his noble spirit and uncon- 
querable generosity, Fielding reminds one of those 
brave men of whom one reads in stories of English 
shipwrecks and disasters — -of the officer on the African 
shore, when disease has destroyed the crew, and he 
himself is seized by fever, who throws the lead with 
a death-stricken hand, takes the soundings, carries 
the ship out of the river or off the dangerous coast, 
and dies in the manly endeavour — of the wounded 
captain, when the vessel founders, who never loses 
his heart, who eyes the danger steadily, and has a 



within a few days, after 200?. of it had come into my hands, the 
whole gang of cut-throats was entirely dispersed." .... 

Further on, he says — 

" I will confess that my private affairs at the beginning of the 
winter had hut a gloomy aspect; for I had not plundered the 
public or the poor of those sums which men, who are always 
ready to plunder both as much as they can, have been pleased to 
suspect me of taking; on the contrary, by composing, instead of 
inflaming, the quarrels of porters and beggars (which I blush 
when I say hath not been universally practised), and by refusing 
to take a shilling from a man who most undoubtedly would not 
have had another left, I had reduced an income of about 500/., a 
year of the dirtiest money upon earth, to little more than 300/. ; a 
considerable portion of which remained with my clerk." 



HOGARTH, SMOLLETT, AND FIELDING. 285 

cheery word for all, until the inevitable fate over- 
whelms him, and the gallant ships goes down. Such 
a brave and gentle heart, such an intrepid and 
courageous spirit, I love to recognise in the manly,, 
the English Harry Fielding. 



LECTURE THE SIXTH. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 

Roger Sterne, Sterne's father, was the second son 
of a numerous race, descendants of Richard Sterne, 
Archbishop of York, in the reign of James II. ; and 
children of Simon Sterne and Mary Jaques, his 
wife, heiress of Elvington, near York. 1 Roger was 
a lieutenant in Handiside's regiments, and engaged 
in Flanders in Queen Anne's wars. He married 
the daughter of a noted suttler, " N.B., he was in 
debt to him," his son writes, pursuing the paternal 
biography, and marched through the world with this 
companion, following the regiment and bringing many 
children to poor Roger Sterne. The captain was 
an irascible but kind and simple little man, Sterne 
says, and informs us that his sire was run through 
the body at Gibraltar, by a brother officer, in a duel, 
which arose out of a dispute about a goose. Roger 

1 He came of a Suffolk family — one of whom settled in Notting- 
hamshire. The famous " starling " was actually the family crest. 



STEKNE AND GOLDSMITH. 287 

never entirely recovered from the effects of this 
rencontre, but died presently at Jamaica, whither 
he had followed the drum. 

Lawrence, his second child, was borne at Clonmel, 
in Ireland, in 1713, and travelled for the first ten 
years of his life, on his father's march, from barrack 
to transport, from Ireland to England. 1 

One relative of his mother's took her and her 
family under shelter for ten months at Mullingar: 
another collateral descendant of the Archbishop's 
housed them for a year at his castle near Carrick- 
fergus. Larry Sterne was put to school at Halifax 
in England, finally was adopted by his kinsman of 
Elvington, and parted company with his father, the 
Captain, who marched on his path of life till he met 
the fatal goose, which closed his career. The most 
picturesque and delightful parts of Lawrence Sterne's 
writings, we owe to his recollections of the military 
life. Trim's montero cap, and Le Fevre's sword, 
and dear Uncle Toby's roquelaure, are doubtless 
reminiscences of the boy, who had lived with the 
followers of William and Marlborough, and had 



1 "It was in this parish (of Animo, in "Wicklow), during our 
stay, that I had that wonderful escape in falling through a mill- 
race, whilst the mill was going, and of heing taken up unhurt; the 
story is incredible, but known for truth in all that part of Ireland 
where hundreds of the common people nocked to see me."— 
Sterne. 



288 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

beat time with his little feet to the fifes of Ramillies 
in Dublin barrack-yard, or played with the torn flags 
and halberds of Malplaquet on the parade ground 
at Clonmel. 

Lawrence remained at Halifax school till he was 
eighteen years old. His wit and cleverness appear 
to have acquired the respect of his master here : for 
when the usher whipped Lawrence for writing his 
name on the newly white-washed school-room ceiling, 
the pedagogue in chief rebuked the under-strapper, 
aud said that the name should never be effaced, 
for Sterne was a boy of genius, and would come 
to preferment. 

His cousin, the Squire of Elvington, sent Sterne 
to Jesus College, Cambridge, where he remained five 
years, and taking orders, got, through his uncle's 
interest, the living of Sutton and the Prebendary of 
York. Through his wife's connections, he got the 
living of Stillington. He married her in 1741 ; 
having ardently courted the young lady for some 
years previously. It was not until the young lady 
fancied herself dying, that she made Sterne acquainted 
with the extent of her liking for him. One evening 
when he was sitting with her, with an almost broken 
heart to see her so ill (the Rev. Mr. Sterne's heart 
was a good deal broken in the course of his life,) she 
said — " My dear Laurey, I never can be yours, for I 
verily believe I have not long to live, but I have left 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 289 

you every shilling of my fortune/' a generosity 
which overpowered Sterne: she recovered: and so 
they were married, and grew heartily tired of each 
other before many years were over. " Nescio quid 
est materia cum me," Sterne writes to one of his 
friends (in dog-Latin, and very sad dog-Latin too), 
" sed sum fatigatus et segrotus de mea uxore plus 
quam unquam," which means, I am sorry to say, " I 
don't know what is the matter with me : but I am 
more tired and sick of my wife than ever." 1 

This to be sure was five-and-twenty years after 
Laurey had been overcome by her generosity and 
she by Laurey's love. Then he wrote to her of the 
delights of marriage, saying — " We will be as merry 
and as innocent as our first parents in Paradise, 
before the arch fiend entered that indescribable scene. 
The kindest affections will have room to expand in 
our retirement — let the human tempest and hurricane 
rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon 
of peace. My L. has seen a polyanthus blow in 
December? — Some friendly wall has sheltered it 
from the biting wind — no planetary influence shall 

reach us, but that which presides and cherishes the 

» . 

1 "My wife returns to Toulouse, and proposes to pass the 
summer at Bignaeres — I, on the contrary, go and visit my wife, 
the church, in Yorkshire. We all live the longer, at least the 
happier, for having things our own way; this is my conjugal 
maxim. I own 'tis not the hest of maxims, hut I maintain 'tis not 
the worst."— Sterne's Letters, 20th January, 1764. 

U 



290 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

sweetest flowers. The gloomy family of care and 
distrust shall be banished from our dwelling, guarded 
by thy kind and tutelar deity,— we will sing our 
choral songs of gratitude and rejoice to the end of 
our pilgrimage. Adieu, my L. Return to one who 
languishes for thy society ! — As I take up my pen, 
my poor pulse quickens, my pale face glows, and * 
tears are trickling down on my paper as I trace the 
word L." 

And it is about this woman, with whom he finds 
no fault, but that she bores him, that our philanthro- 
pist writes, (i Sum fatigatus et segrotus" — Sum mor- 
taliter in amove with somebody else ! That fine flower 
of love, that polyanthus over which Sterne snivelled 
so many tears, could not last for a quarter of a 
century ! 

Or rather it could not be expected that a gentleman 
with such a fountain at command, should keep it to 
arroser one homely old lady, when a score of younger 
and prettier people might be refreshed from the same 
gushing source. 1 It was in December, 1767, that the 



1 In a collection of " Seven Letters by Sterne and his friends," 
(printed for private circulation), in 1844, is a letter of M. Tollot, 
who was in France with Sterne and his family in 1764. Here is a 
paragraph : — 

" Nous arrivames le lendemain a Montpellier, ou nous trouvames 
notre ami Mr. Sterne, sa femme, sa fille, Mr. Huet, et quelquea 
autres Anglaises ; j'eus, je vous l'avoue, beaucoup de plaisir en 
revoyant le bon et agreable Tristram II avait ete 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 291 

Rev. Lawrence Sterne, the famous Shandean, the 
charming Yorick, the delight of the fashionable world, 
the delicious divine, for whose sermons the whole 
polite world was subscribing, 1 the occupier of 



assez longtemps a Toulouse, ou il se serait amuse sans sa femme, 
qui le poursuivit partout, et qui voulait etre de tout. Ces dis- 
positions dans cette bonne dame, lui ont fait passer d'assez 
mauvais momens ; il supporte tous ces desagremens avec une 
patience d'ange." 

About four months after this very characteristic letter, Sterne 
wrote to the same gentleman to whom Tollot had written ; and 
from his letter we may extract a companion paragraph : — 

" All which being premised, I have been for eight 

weeks smitten with the tenderest passion that ever tender wight 
underwent. I wish, dear cousin, thou couldst conceive (perhaps 
thou canst without my wishing it) how deliciously I canter'd 
away with it the first month, two up, two down, always upon my 
hanches, along the streets from my hotel to hers, at first once — 
then twice, then three times a day, till at length I was within 
an ace of setting up my hobby-horse in her stable for good and 
all. I might as well, considering how the enemies of the Lord 
have blasphemed thereupon. The last three weeks we were every 
hour upon the doleful ditty of parting — and thou mayest conceive, 
dear cousin, how it altered my gait and air — for I went and came 
like any louden'd carl, and dkl nothing but jouer des sentimens 
with her from sun-rising even to the setting of the same ; and 
now she is gone to the south of France ; and to finish the comedie, 
I fell ill, and broke a vessel in my lungs, and half bled to death. 
Voila mon histoire ! " 

Whether husband or wife had most of the "patience d'ange" may 
be uncertain; but there can be no doubt which needed it most ! 

i «< Tristram Shandy' is still a greater object of admiration, 
the man as well as the book; one is invited to dinner, when he 
dines, a fortnight before. As to the volumes yet published, there 
is much good fun in them, and humour sometimes hit and some- 
times missed. Have you read his 'Sermons,' with his own 
comick figure, from a painting by Keynolds, at the head of them ? 

u 2 



292 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Rabelais's easy chair, only fresh stuffed and more 
elegant than when in possession of the cynical old 
curate of Meudon, 1 — the more than rival of the 

They are in the style I think most proper for the pulpit, and 
show a strong imagination and a sensible heart ; but you see him 
often tottering on the verge of laughter, and ready to throw his 
periwig in the face of the audience." — Gray's Letters, June 22nd, 
1760. 

" It having been observed that there was little hospitality in 
London — Johnson: ' Nay, sir, any man who has a name, or who 
has the power of pleasing, will be very generally invited in 
London. The man, Sterne, I have been told, has had engage- 
ments for three months.' Goldsmith : ' And a very dull fellow.' 
Johnson: 'Why, no, sir.'" — Boswell's Life of Johnson. 

"Her [Miss Monckton's] vivacity enchanted the sage, and they 
used to talk together with all imaginable ease. A singular 
instance happened one evening, when she insisted that some of 
Sterne's writings were very pathetic. Johnson bluntly denied it. 
' I am sure,' said she, ' they have affected me.' ' Why,' said 
Johnson, smiling, and rolling himself about — 'that is, because, 
dearest, you're a dunce.' When she some time afterwards men- 
tioned this to him, he said with equal truth and politeness, ' Madam, 
if I had thought so, I certainly should not have said it.' " — Ibid. 

1 A passage or two from Sterne's " Sermons " may not be with- 
out interest here. Is not the following, levelled against the 
cruelties of the Church of Rome, stamped with the autograph 
of the author of the " Sentimental Journey ?" — 

" To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the 
prisons of the Inquisition — behold religion with mercy and justice 
chained down under her feet, — there, sitting ghastly upon a black 
tribunal, propped up with racks, and instruments of torment. — 
Hark ! — what a piteous groan ! — See the melancholy wretch who 
uttered it, just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock- 
trial, and endure the utmost pain that a studied system of religious 
cruelty has been able to invent. Behold this helpless victim 
delivered up to his tormentors. His body so wasted with sorrow 
and long confinement, you'll see every nerve and muscle as it suffers. — ■ 
Observe the last movement of that horrid engine. — What con- 



STEENE AND GOLDSMITH. 293 

Dean of St. Patrick's, wrote the above quoted 
respectable letter to his friend in London: and it 

vulsions it has thrown him into ! Consider the nature of the 
posture in which he now lies stretched. — What exquisite torture 
he endures by it. — 'Tis all nature can bear. — Good God ! see how 
it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips, willing 
to take its leave, but not suffered to depart. Behold the unhappy 
wretch led back to his cell, — dragg'd out of it again to meet the 
flames — and the insults in his last agonies, which this principle — 
this principle, that there can be religion without morality — has 
prepared for him." — Sermon 27 th. 

The next extract is preached on a text to be found in Judges 
xix. ver. 1, 2, 3, concerning a "certain Levite:" — 

" Such a one the Levite wanted to share his solitude and fill up 
that uncomfortable blank in the heart in such a situation; for, 
notwithstanding all we meet with in books, in many of which, no 
doubt, there are a good many handsome things said upon the 
secrets of retirement, &c. . . . yet still, ' it is not good for man 
to be alone : ' nor can all which the cold-hearted pedant stuns our 
ears with upon the subject, ever give one answer of satisfaction to 
the mind ; in the midst of the loudest vauntings of philosophy, 
nature will have her yearnings tor society and friendship ; — a 
good heart wants some object to be kind to — and the best parts of 
our blood, and the purest of our spirits, suffer most under the 
destitution. 

" Let the torpid monk seek Heaven comfortless and alone. God 
speed him ! For my own part, I fear I should never so find the 
way; let me be wise and religious, but let me be Man; wherever thy 
Providence places me, or whatever ber the road I take to Thee, 
give me some companion in my journey, be it only to remark to, 
' How our shadows lengthen as our sun goes down;' — to whom I 
may say, ' How fresh is the face of Nature ! how sweet the flowers 
of the field ! how delicious are these fruits ! ' " — Sermon 18th. 

The first of these passages gives us another drawing of the 
famous " Captive." The second shows that the same reflection was 
suggested to the Eev. Lawrence, by a text in Judges, as by the 
fille-de~chambre. 

Sterne's Sermons were published as those of " Mr. Yorick." 



294 ENGLISH HUMOUEISTS. 

was in April of the same year, that he was pouring 
out his fond heart to Mrs. Elizabeth Draper, wife of 
" Daniel Draper, Esq., Counsellor of Bombay, and, 
in 1775, chief of the factory of Surat — a gentleman 
very much respected in that quarter of the globe." 

■ e I got thy letter last night, Eliza," Sterne writes, 
"on my return from Lord Bathurst's, where I 
dined — (the letter has this merit in it that it contains 
a pleasant reminiscence of better men than Sterne, 
and introduces us to a portrait of a kind old gentle- 
man) — I got thy letter last night, Eliza, on my return 
from Lord Bathurst's; and where I was heard — as I 
talked of thee an hour without intermission — with so 
much pleasure and attention, that the good old Lord 
toasted your health three different times ; and now 
he is in his 85th year, says he hopes to live long 
enough to be introduced as a friend to my fair Indian 
disciple, and to see her eclipse all other Nabobesses 
as much in wealth, as she does already in exterior, 
and what is far better (for Sterne is nothing without 
his morality), and what is far better, in interior merit. 
This nobleman is an old friend of mine. You know 
he was always the protector of men of wit and genius, 
and has had those of the last century, Addison, 
Steele, Pope, Swift, Prior, &c, always at his table. 
The manner in which his notice began of me was as 
singular as it was polite. He came up to me one 
day as I was at the Princess of Wales's court, and 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 295 

said, ( I want to know you, Mr. Sterne, but it is fit 
you also should know who it is that wishes this 
pleasure. You have heard of an old Lord Bathurst, 
of whom your Popes and Swifts have sung and 
spoken so much ? I have lived my life with geniuses 
of that cast; but have survived them ; and, despair- 
ing ever to find their equals, it is some years since I 
have shut up my books and closed my accounts; but 
you have kindled a desire in me of opening them 
once more before I die : which I now do : so go 
home and dine with me.' This nobleman, I say, is 
a prodigy, for he has all the wit and promptness of a 
man of thirty; a disposition to be pleased, and a 
power to please others, beyond whatever I knew: 
added to which a man of learning, courtesy, and 
feeling." 

ee He heard me talk of thee, Eliza, with uncommon 
satisfaction — for there was only a third person, and 
of se?isibility } with us : and a most sentimental after- 
noon till nine o'clock have we passed! 1 But thou, 

1 "lam glad that you are in love— 'twill cure you at least ot 
the spleen, which has a bad effect on both man and woman — I 
myself must even have some Dulcinea in my head; it harmonises 
the soul ; and in these cases I first endeavour to make the lady 
believe so, or rather, I begin first to make myself believe that I 
am in love — but I carry on my affairs quite in the French way, 
sentimentally — I'amour (say they) n'est rien sans sentiment. Now, 
notwithstanding they make such a pother about the word, they 
have no precise idea annexed to it. And so much for that same 
subject called love." — Sterne's Letters, May 23, 1765. 

" P.S. — My ' Sentimental Journey' will please Mrs. J and 



296 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Eliza ! wert the star that conducted and enlivened 
the discourse ! And when I talked not of thee, still 
didst thou fill my mind, and warm every thought I 
uttered, for I am not ashamed to acknowledge I 
greatly miss thee. Best of all good girls ! — the 
sufferings I have sustained all night in consequence 
of thine, Eliza, are beyond the power of words. . . . 
And so thou hast fixed thy Bramin's portrait over 
thy writing desk, and will consult it in all doubts and 
difficulties ? — Grateful and good girl ! Yorick smiles 
contentedly over all thou dost : his picture does not 
do justice to his own complacency. I am glad your 
shipmates are friendly beings (Eliza was at Deal 
going back to the Counsellor at Bombay, and indeed 
it was high time she should be off.) You could least 
dispense with what is contrary to your own nature, 
which is soft and gentle, Eliza; it would civilize 
savages — though pity were it thou shouldst be 
tainted with the office. Write to me, my child, thy 
delicious letters. Let them speak the easy careless- 
ness of a heart that opens itself anyhow, every how, 
such, Eliza, I write to thee! (the artless rogue, of 
course he did !) And so I should ever love thee, 

my Lydia [his daughter, afterwards Mrs. Medalle] — I can answer 
for those two. It is a subject which works well, and suits the 
frame of mind I have been in for some time past. I told you my 
design in it was to teach us to love the world and our fellow- 
creatures better than we do — so it runs most upon those gentler 
passions and affections which aid so much to it." — Letters [1767]. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 297 

most artlessly, most affectionately, if Providence per- 
mitted thy residence in the same section of the globe : 
for I am all that honour and affection can make me 
< Thy Bramin.'" 

The Bramin continues addressing Mrs. Draper 
until the departure of the Earl of Chatham, India- 
man, from Deal, on the 2nd of April, 1767. He is 
amiably anxious about the fresh paint for Eliza's 
cabin ; he is uncommonly solicitous about her com- 
panions on board: " I fear the best of your shipmates 
are only genteel by comparison with the contrasted 
crew with which thou beholdest them. So was — 
you know who — from the same fallacy which was 
put upon your judgment when — but I will not 
mortify you ! " 

" You know who " was, of course, Daniel Draper, 
Esq., of Bombay — a gentleman very much respected 
in that quarter of the globe, and about whose 
probable health our worthy Bramin writes with 
delightful candour. 

" I honour you, Eliza, for keeping secret some 
things which, if explained, had been a panegyric on 
yourself. There is a dignity in venerable affliction 
which will not allow it to appeal to the world for 
pity or redress. "Well have you supported that 
character, my amiable, my philosophic friend! And 
indeed, I begin to think you have as many virtues 
as my Uncle Toby's widow. Talking of widows — 



298 ENGLISH HUMQUKISTS. 

pray, Eliza, if ever you are such, do not think of 
giving yourself to some wealthy Nabob, because I 
design to marry you myself. My wife cannot live 
long, and I know not the woman I should like so 
well for her substitute as yourself. 'Tis true I am 
ninety-five in constitution, and you but twenty-five ; 
but what I want in youth, I will make up in wit 
and good-humour. Not Swift so loved his Stella, 
Scarron his Maintenon, or Waller his Saccharissa. 
Tell me, in answer to this, that you approve and 
honour the proposal." 

Approve and honour the proposal! The coward 
was writing gay letters to his friends this while, with 
sneering allusions to this poor foolish JBramine. Her 
ship was not out of the Downs, and the charming 
Sterne was at the Mount Coffeehouse, with a sheet 
of gilt-edged paper before him, offering that precious 

treasure his heart to Lady P , asking whether 

it gave her pleasure to see him unhappy? whether 
it added to her triumph that her eyes and lips had 
turned a man into a fool ? — quoting the Lord's 
Prayer, with a horrible baseness of blasphemy, as 
a proof that he had desired not to be led into 
temptation, and swearing himself the most tender 
and sincere fool in the world. It was from his 
home at Coxwould that he wrote the Latin letter, 
which, I suppose, he was ashamed to put into 
English. I find in my copy of the Letters, that 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 299 

there is a note of I can't call it admiration, at 
letter 112, which seems to announce that there was 
a No. 3 to whom the wretched worn-out old scamp 
was paying his addresses; 1 and the year after, 
having come back to his lodgings in Bond-street, 
with his " Sentimental Journey " to launch upon 
the town, eager as ever for praise and pleasure; 
as vain, as wicked, as witty, as false as he had 
ever been, death at length seized the feeble wretch, 
and, on the 18th of March, 1768, that "bale of 

1 TO MRS. H . 

" Coxwould, Nov. 15, 1767. 

"Now be a good dear woman, my H , and execute those 

commissions well, and when I see you I will give you a kiss — 
there 's for you ! But I have something else for you which I am 
fabricating at a great rate, and that is my ' Sentimental Journey/ 
which shall make you cry as much as it has affected me, or I 
will give up the business of sentimental writing. . . . 

" I am yours, &c, &c, 

" T. Shandy." 

TO THE EARL OP . 

" Coxwould, Nov. 28, 1767. 
" My Lord, — 'T is with the greatest pleasure I take my pen to 
thank your Lordship for your letter of inquiry about Yorick — he 
was worn out, both his spirits and body, with the ' Sentimental 
Journey;' 'tis true, then, an author must feel himself, or his 
reader will not — but I have torn my whole frame into pieces by 
my feelings — I believe the brain stands as much in need of 
recruiting as the body ; therefore I shall set out for town the 
twentieth of next month, after having recruited myself a week 
at York. I might indeed solace myself with my wife (who is 
come from Trance), but, in fact, I have long been a sentimental 
being, whatever your Lordship may think to the contrary." 



300 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

cadaverous goods/' as he calls his body, was con- 
signed to Pluto. 1 In his last letter there is one sign 
of grace-— the real affection with which he entreats a 
friend to be a guardian to his daughter Lydia. 2 All 
his letters to her are artless, kind, affectionate, and 
not sentimental ; as a hundred pages in his writings 
are beautiful, and full, not of surprising humour 
merely, but of genuine love and kindness. A 
perilous trade, indeed, is that of a man who has 
to bring his tears and laughter, his recollections, 

1 " It is known that Sterne died in hired lodgings, and I have 
been told that his attendants robbed him even of his gold sleeve- 
buttons while he was expiring." — Dr. Ferriar. 

He died at No. 41 (now a cheesemonger's) on the west side of 
Old Bond Street. — Handbook of London. 

2 "In February, 1768, Lawrence Sterne, his frame exhausted 
by long debilitating illness, expired at his lodgings in Bond-street, 
London. There was something in the manner of his death 
singularly resembling the particulars detailed by Mrs. Quickly, as 
attending that of Falstaff, the compeer of Yorick for infinite jest, 
however unlike in other particulars. As he lay on his bed totally 
exhausted, he complained that his feet were cold, and requested 
the female attendant to chafe them. She did so, and it seemed to 
relieve him. He complained that the cold came up higher ; and 
whilst the assistant was in the act of chafing his ancles and 
legs, he expired without a groan. It was also remarkable that 
his death took place much in the manner which he himself had 
■wished ; and that the last offices were rendered him, not in his 
own house, or by the hand of kindred affection, but in an inn, and 
by strangers. 

" We are well acquainted with Sterne's features and personal 
appearance, to which he himself frequently alludes. He was 
tall and thin, with a hectic and consumptive appearance." — Sir 
Walter Scott. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 301 

his personal griefs and joys, his private thoughts 
and feelings to market, to write them on paper, 
and sell them for money. Does he exaggerate 
his grief, so as to get his reader's pity for a false 
sensibility? feign indignation, so as to establish a 
character for virtue ? elaborate repartees, so that he 
may pass for a wit? steal from other authors, and 
put down the theft to the credit side of his own 
reputation for ingenuity and learning? feign ori- 
ginality ? affect benevolence or misanthropy ? appeal 
to the gallery gods with claptraps and vulgar baits to 
catch applause ? 

How much of the paint and emphasis is necessary 
for the fair business of the stage, and how much of 
the rant and rouge is put on for the vanity of the 
actor. His audience trusts him : can he trust him- 
self? How much was deliberate calculation and 
imposture — how nruch was false sensibility — and 
how much true feeling? Where did the lie begin, 
and did he know where? and where did the truth 
end in the art and scheme of this man of genius, 
this actor, this quack ? Some time since, I was in 
the company of a French actor, who began after 
dinner, and at his own request, to sing French songs 
of the sort called des chansons grivoises, and which 
he performed admirably, and to the dissatisfaction 
of most persons present. Having finished these, 
he commenced a sentimental ballad — it was so 



302 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

charmingly sung that it touched all persons present, 
and especially the singer himself, whose voice 
trembled, whose eyes filled with emotion, and who 
was snivelling and weeping quite genuine tears by 
the time his own ditty was over. I suppose Sterne 
had this artistical sensibility; he used to blubber 
perpetually in his study, and finding his tears 
infectious, and that they brought him a great 
popularity, he exercised the lucrative gift of weep- 
ing; he utilised it, and cried on every occasion. I 
own that I don't value or respect much the cheap 
dribble of those fountains. He fatigues me with 
his perpetual disquiet and his uneasy appeals to 
my risible or sentimental faculties. He is always 
looking in my face, watching his effect, uncertain 
whether I think him an impostor or not; posture- 
making, coaxing, and imploring me. " See what 
sensibility I have — own now that I 'm very clever — 
do cry now, you can't resist this." The humour of 
Swift and Rabelais, whom he pretended to succeed, 
poured from them as naturally as song does from a 
bird ; they lose no manly dignity with it, but laugh 
their hearty great laugh out of their broad chests 
as nature bade them. But this man — who can make 
you laugh, who can make you cry, too — never lets 
his reader alone, or will permit his audience repose : 
when you are quiet, he fancies he must rouse you, 
and turns over head and heels, or sidles up and 



STEKNE AND GOLDSMITH. 303 

whispers a nasty story. The man is a great jester, 
not a great humourist. He goes to work systemati- 
cally and of cold blood ; paints his face, puts on his 
ruff and motley clothes, and lays down his carpet 
and tumbles on it. 

For instance, take the (i Sentimental Journey," 
and see in the writer the deliberate propensity 
to make points and seek applause. He gets to 
Dessein's Hotel, he wants a carriage to travel to 
Paris, he goes to the inn-yard, and begins what the 
actors call " business " at once. There is that little 
carriage the ddsobligeant. " Four months had elapsed 
since it had finished its career of Europe in the 
corner of Monsieur Dessein's courtyard, and having 
sallied out thence but a vamped-up business at first, 
though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount 
Sennis, it had not profited much by its adventures, 
but by none so little as the standing so many months 
unpitied in the corner of Monsieur Dessein's coach- 
yard. Much, indeed, was not to be said for it — but 
something might — and when a few words will rescue 
misery out of her distress, I hate the man who can 
be a churl of them." 

Le tour est fait! Paillasse has tumbled! Paillasse 
has jumped over the desobligeant, cleared it, hood 
and all, and bows to the noble company. Does 
anybody believe that this is a real Sentiment ? that 
this luxury of generosity, this gallant rescue of 



304 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Misery — out of an old cab, is genuine feeling? It 
is as genuine as the virtuous oratory of Joseph 
Surface when he begins, " The man who," &c, &c, 
and wishes to pass off for a saint with his credulous, 
good-humoured dupes. 

Our friend purchases the carriage — after turning 
that notorious old monk to good account, and effecting 
(like a soft and good-natured Paillasse as he was, 
and very free with his money when he had it,) an 
exchange of snuff-boxes with the old Franciscan, 
jogs out of Calais ; sets down in immense figures on 
the credit side of his account the sous he gives away 
to the Montreuil beggars ; and, at Nampont, gets out 
of the chaise and whimpers over that famous dead 
donkey, for which any sentimentalist may cry who 
will. It is agreeably and skilfully done — that dead 
jackass; like M. de Soubise's cook, on the campaign, 
Sterne dresses it, and serves it up quite tender and 
with a very piquante sauce. But tears, and fine 
feelings, and a white pocket-handkerchief, and a 
funeral sermon, and horses and feathers, and a pro- 
cession of mutes, and a hearse with a dead donkey 
inside ! Psha ! Mountebank ! I '11 not give thee one 
penny more for that trick, donkey and all ! 

This donkey had appeared once before with signal 
effect. In 1765, three years before the publication 
of the " Sentimental Journey," the seventh and eighth 
volumes of " Tristram Shandy " were given to the 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 305 

world, and the famous Lyons -donkey makes his entry 
in those volumes (pp. 315, 316): — 

" 'Twas by a poor ass, with a couple of large 
panniers at his back, who had just turned in to 
collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves , 
and stood dubious, with his- two fore-feet at the 
inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet 
towards the street, as not knowing very well whether 
he was to go in or no. 

" Now 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I 
cannot bear to strike; there is a patient endurance 
of suffering wrote so unaffectedly in his looks and 
carriage which pleads so mightily for him, that it 
always disarms me, and to that degree that I do 
not like to speak unkindly to him : on the contrary, 
meet him where I will, whether in town or country, 
in cart or under panniers, whether in liberty or 
bondage, I have ever something civil to say to him 
on my part ; and, as one word begets another (if he 
has as little to do as I), I generally fall into conver- 
sation with him ; and surely never is my imagination 
so busy as in framing responses from the etchings 
of his countenance; and where those carry me not 
deep enough, in flying from my own heart into his, 
and seeing what is natural for an ass to think — as 
well as a man, upon the occasion. In truth, it is the 
only creature of all the classes of beings below me 

x 



306 ENGLISH HUMOUKISTS. 

with whom I can do this With an ass I can 

commune for ever. 

" c Come, Honesty/ said I, seeing it was imprac- 
ticable to pass betwixt him and the gate, e art thou 
for coming in or going out?' 

({ The ass twisted his head round to look up the 
street. 

a t Well ! ' replied I, e we '11 wait a minute for thy 
driver.' 

" He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked 
wistfully the opposite way, 

(( e I understand thee perfectly,' answered I : ' if 
thou takest a wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel 
thee to death. Well ! a minute is but a minute ; 
and if it saves a fellow-creature a drubbing, it shall 
not be set down as ill spent." 

" He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this 
discourse went on, and, in the little peevish con- 
tentions between hunger and unsavouriness, had 
dropped it out of his mouth half-a-dozen times, and 
had picked it up again. ' God help thee, Jack ! ' said 
I, ' thou hast a bitter breakfast on't — and many a 
bitter day's labour, and many a bitter blow, I fear, 
for its wages ! 'Tis all, all bitterness to thee — what- 
ever life is to others ! And now thy mouth, if one 
knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot 
(for he had cast aside the stem), and thou hast not 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 307 

a friend perhaps in all this world that will give thee 
a macaroon,' In saying this, I pulled out a paper of 
'em, which I had just bought, and gave him one; — 
and, at this moment that I am telling it, my heart 
smites me that there was more of pleasantry in the 
conceit of seeing how an ass would eat a macaroon 
than of benevolence in giving him one, which pre- 
sided in the act. 

(i When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I pressed 
him to come in. The poor beast was heavy loaded — 
his legs seemed to tremble under him — he hung 
rather backwards, and, as I pulled at his halter, it 
broke in my hand. He looked up pensive in my 
face : ' Don't thrash me with it ; but if you will you 
may.' ' If I do,' said I, < I '11 be d — -.' " 

A critic who refuses to see in this charming 
description wit, humour, pathos, a kind nature 
speaking, and a real sentiment, must be hard indeed 
to move and to please. A page or two farther we 
come to a description not less beautiful — a landscape 
and figures, deliciously painted by one who had the 
keenest enjoyment and the most tremulous sen- 
sibility : — 

(i 'Twas in the road between Nismes and Lunel, 
where is the best Muscatto wine in all France : the 
sun was set, they had done their work ; the nymphs 
had tied up their hair afresh, and the swains were 
preparing for a carousal. My mule made a dead 

X 2 



308 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

point. e 'Tis the pipe and tambourine,' said I — ' I 
never will argue a point with one of your family as 
long as I live ; ' so leaping off his back, and kicking 
off one boot into this ditch and t'other into that, 
' I '11 take a dance,' said I, e so stay you here.' 

" A sun-burnt daughter of labour rose up from 
the group to meet me as I advanced towards them ; 
her hair, which was of a dark chestnut approaching 
to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a single 
tress. 

" ' We want a cavalier,' said she, holding out both 
her hands, as if to offer them. ( And a cavalier you 
shall have,' said I, taking hold of both of them. e We 
could not have done without you,' said she, letting 
go one hand, with self-taught politeness, and leading 
me up with the other. 

"A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed 
with a pipe, and to which he had added a tambourine 
of his own accord, ran sweetly over the prelude, 
as he sat upon the bank. ' Tie me up this tress, 
instantly,' said Nannette, putting a piece of string 
into my hand. It taught me to forget I was a 
stranger. The whole knot fell down — we had been 
seven years acquainted. The youth struck the note 
upon the tambourine, his pipe followed, and off we 
bounded. 

" The sister of the youth — who had stolen her 
voice from Heaven — sang alternately with her brother, 






STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 309 

'Twas a Gascoigne roundelay. 6 Viva la joia, fidon 
la tristessa;' — the nymphs joined in unison, and their 
swains an octave below them. 

t( Viva la joia was in Kannette's lips, viva la joia 
in her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across 
the space betwixt us. She looked amiable. Why 
could I not live and end my days thus ? ( Just 
Disposer of our joys and sorrows!' cried I, f why 
could not a man sit down in the lap of content 
here, and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, 
and go to Heaven with this nut-brown maid?' 
Capriciously did she bend her head on one side, 
and dance up insidious. ( Then 'tis time to dance 
off,' quoth I." 

And with this pretty dance and chorus, the volume 
artfully concludes. Even here one can't give the 
whole description. There is not a page in Sterne's 
writing but has something that were better away, a 
latent corruption — a hint, as of an impure presence, 1 



1 "With regard to Sterne, and the charge of licentiousness 
which presses so seriously upon his character as a writer, I would 
remark that there is a sort of knowingness, the wit of which 
depends, 1st, on the modesty it gives pain to ; or, 2ndly, on the 
innocence and innocent ignorance over which it triumphs ; or 
3rdly, on a certain oscillation in the individual's own mind between 
the remaining good and the encroaching evil of his nature — a 
sort of dallying with the devil — a fluxionary art of combining 
courage and cowardice, as when a man snuffs a candle with his 
fingers for the first time, or better still, perhaps, like that trembling 
daring with which a child touches a hot tea-urn, because it has 



310 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Some of that dreary double entendre may be 
attributed to freer times and manners than ours, 
but not all. The foul Satyr's eyes leer out of the 
leaves constantly : the last words the famous author 
wrote were bad and wicked — the last lines the poor 
stricken wretch penned were for pity and pardon. 
I think of these past writers and of one who lives 
amongst us now, and am grateful for the innocent 
laughter and the sweet and unsullied page which 
the author of il David Copperfield" gives to my 
children. 



been forbidden ; so that the mind has its own white and black 
angel; the same or similar amusement as may be supposed to 
take place between an old debauchee and a prude — the feeling 
resentment, on the one hand, from a prudential anxiety to pre- 
serve appearances and have a character ; and, on the other, an 
inward sympathy with the enemy. We have only to suppose 
society innocent, and then nine-tenths of this sort of wit would 
be like a stone that falls in snow, making no sound, because 
exciting no resistance ; the remainder rests on its being an offence 
against the good manners of human nature itself. 

"This source, unworthy as it is, may doubtless be combined 
with wit, drollery, fancy, and even humour ; and we have only to 
regret the misalliance; but that the latter are quite distinct from 
the former, may be made evident by abstracting in our imagination 
the morality of the characters of Mr. Shandy, my Uncle Toby, 
and Trim, which are all antagonists to this spurious sort of wit, 
from the rest of ' Tristram Shandy,' and by supposing, instead of 
them, the presence of two or three callous debauchees. The result 
will be pure disgust. Sterne cannot be too severely censured for 
thus using the best dispositions of our nature as the panders and 
condiments for the basest." — Coleridge. Literary Remains, vol. i. 
pp. 141, 142. 



STEKNE AND GOLDSMITH. 311 

" Jete sur cette boule, 
Laid, chetif et souffrant ; 
Etouffe dans la foule, 
Faute d'etre assez grand ; 

" Une plainte touchante 
De ma bouche sortit ; 
Le bon Dieu me dit : Chante, 
Chante, pauvre petit ! 

<( Chanter, ou je m'abuse, 
Est ma tache ici bas. 
Tous ceux qu'ainsij 'amuse, 
Ne m'aimeront ils pas ? " 

In those charming lines of Beranger, one may- 
fancy described the career, the sufferings, the genius, 
the gentle nature .of Goldsmith, and the esteem in 
which we hold him. Who, of the millions whom he 
has amused, doesn't love him? To be the most 
beloved of English writers, what a title that is for 
a man ! x A wild youth, wayward, but full of 
tenderness and affection, quits the country village 

1 " He was a friend to virtue, and in his most playful pages 
never forgets what is due to it. A gentleness, delicacy, and purity 
of feeling distinguishes whatever he wrote, and bears a corre- 
spondence to the generosity of a disposition which knew no bounds 
but his last guinea 

" The admirable ease and grace of the narrative, as well as the 
pleasing truth with which the principal characters are designed, 
make the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' one of the most delicious morsels 
of fictitious composition on which the human mind was ever 
employed. 

. . . . " We read the < Vicar of Wakefield ' in youth and in age 
— we return to it again and again, and bless the memory of an 
author who contrives so well to reconcile us to human nature." — 
Sib Walter Scott. 



312 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

where his boyhood has been passed in happy musing, 
in idle shelter, in fond longing to see the great world 
out of doors, and achieve name and fortune — and after 
years of dire struggle, and neglect and poverty, his 
heart turning back as fondly to his native place, as it 
had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, 
he writes a book and a poem, full of the recollections 
and feelings of home — he paints the friends and 
scenes of his youth, and peoples Auburn and Wake- 
field with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander he 
must, but he carries away a home-relic with him, 
and dies with it on his breast. His nature is truant ; 
in repose it longs for change : as on the journey it 
looks back for friends and quiet. He passes to-day 
in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing 
yesterday's elegy ; and he would fly away this hour, 
but that a cage and necessity keep him. What 
is the charm of his verse, of his style, and humour ? 
His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, his soft 
smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which 
he owns? Your love for him is half pity. You 
come hot and tired from the day's battle, and this 
sweet minstrel sings to you. Who could harm the 
kind vagrant harper? Whom did he ever hurt? 
He carries no weapon — save the harp on which he 
plays to you ; and with which he delights great and 
humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, 
or the soldiers round the fire, or the women and 



STEENE AND GOLDSMITH. 313 

children in the villages, at whose porches he stops 
and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. 
With that sweet story of the " Vicar of Wake- 
field/' 1 he has fonnd entry into every castle and 
every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, however 

1 "Now Herder came," says Goethe in his Autobiography, 
relating his first acquaintance with Goldsmith's masterpiece, 
"and together with his great knowledge brought many other 
aids, and the later publications besides. Among these he an- 
nounced to us the 'Vicar of Wakefield' as an excellent work, 
with the German translation of which he would make us acquainted 
by reading it aloud to us himself. .... 

"A Protestant country clergyman is perhaps the most beautiful 
subject for a modern idyl ; he appears like Melchizedeck, as priest 
and king in one person. To the most innocent situation which 
can be imagined on earth, to that of a husbandman, he is, for the 
most part, united by similarity of occupation as well as by 
equality in family relationships ; he is a father, a master of a 
family, an agriculturist, and thus perfectly a member of the 
community. On this pure, beautiful, earthly foundation rests 
his higher calling ; to him is it giyen to guide men through life, 
to take care of their spiritual education, to bless them at all the 
leading epochs of their existence, to instruct, to strengthen, to 
console them, and if consolation is not sufficient for the present, 
to call up and guarantee the hope of a happier future. Imagine 
such a man with pure human sentiments, strong enough not to 
deviate from them under any circumstances, and by this already 
elevated above the multitude of whom one cannot expect purity 
and firmness ; give him the learning necessary for his office, as 
well as a cheerful, equable activity, which is even passionate, as 
it neglects no moment to do good — and you will have him well 
endowed. But at the same time add the necessary limitation, so 
that he must not only pause in a small circle, but may also, per- 
chance, pass over to a smaller; grant him good-nature, placa- 
bility, resolution, and everything else praiseworthy that springs 
from a decided character, and over all this a cheerful spirit of 
compliance, and a smiling toleration of his own failings and those 



314 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives Has 
passed an evening with him, and undergone the 
charm of his delightful music. 

of others, — then you will have put together pretty well the image 
of our excellent Wakefield. 

" The delineation of this character on his course of life through 
joys and sorrows, the ever-increasing interest of the story, by the 
combination of the entirely natural with the strange and the 
singular, make this novel one of the best which has ever been 
written ; besides this, it has the great advantage that it is quite 
moral, nay, in a pure sense, Christian — represents the reward of 
a good- will and perseverance in the right, strengthens an uncon- 
ditional confidence in God, and attests the final triumph of good 
over evil ; and all this without a trace of cant or pedantry. The 
author was preserved from both of these by an elocution of mind 
that shows itself throughout in the form of irony, by which this 
little work must appear to us as wise as it is amiable. The 
author, Dr. Goldsmith, has, without question, a great insight 
into the moral world, into its strength and its infirmities ; but at 
the same time he can thankfully acknowledge that he is an 
Englishman, and reckon highly the advantages which his country 
and his nation afford him. The family, with the delineation of 
which he occupies himself, stands upon one of the last steps of 
citizen comfort, and yet comes in contact with the highest ; 
its narrow circle, which becomes still more contracted, touches 
upon the great world through the natural and civil course of 
things ; this little skiff floats on the agitated waves of English 
life, and in weal or woe it has to expect injury or help from the 
vast fleet which sails around it. 

" I may suppose that my readers know this work, and have it 
in memory ; whoever hears it named for the first time here, as 
well as he who is induced to read it again, will thank me." — 
Goethe. Truth and Poetry; from my own Life. (English trans- 
lation, vol. i. pp. 378, 9.) 

"He seems from infancy to have been compounded of two 
natures, one bright, the other blundering ; or to have had fairy 
gifts laid in his cradle by the 'good people' who haunted his 
birth-place, the old goblin mansion, on the banks of the Inny. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 315 

Goldsmith's father was no doubt the good Doctor 
Primrose, whom we all of us know. 1 Swift was yet 
alive, when the little Oliver was born at Pallas, or 
Pallasmore, in the county of Longford, in Ireland. 
In 1730, two years after the child's birth, Charles 
Goldsmith removed his family to Lissoy, in the 
county Westmeath, that sweet " Auburn " which 
every person who hears me has seen in fancy. Here 



" He carries with him the wayward elfin spirit, if we may so 
term it, throughout his career. His fairy gifts are of no avail at 
school, academy, or college : they unfit him for close study and 
practical science, and render him heedless of everything that does 
not address itself to his poetical imagination, and genial and 
festive feelings ; they dispose him to break away from restraint, 
to stroll about hedges, green lanes, and haunted streams, to revel 
with jovial companions, or to rove the country like a gipsy in 
quest of odd adventures. . . . 

"Though his circumstances often compelled him to associate 
with the poor, they never could betray him into companionship 
with the depraved. His relish for humour, and for the study of 
character, as we have before observed, brought him often into 
convivial company of a vulgar kind; but he discriminated 
between their vulgarity and their amusing qualities, or rather 
wrought from the whole store familiar features of life which 
form the staple of his most popular writings." — Washington 
Irving. 

1 "The family of Goldsmith, Goldsmyth, or, as it was occa- 
sionally written, Gouldsmith, is of considerable standing in 
Ireland, and seems always to have held a respectable station in 
society. Its origin is English, supposed to be derived from that 
which was long settled at Crayford in Kent." — Prior's Life of 
Goldsmith. 

Oliver's father, great-grandfather, and great-great-grand- 
father were clergymen; and two of them married clergymen's 
daughters. 



316 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

the kind parson 1 brought up his eight children ; and 
loving all the world, as his son says, fancied all the 
world loved him. He had a crowd of poor de- 
pendents besides those hungry children. He kept 
an open table ; round which sate flatterers and poor 
friends, who laughed at the honest rector's many 
jokes, and ate the produce of his seventy acres of 
farm. Those who have seen an Irish house in the 
present day can fancy that one of Lissoy. The old 
beggar still has his allotted corner by the kitchen 
turf; the maimed old soldier still gets his potatoes 
and butter-milk; the poor cottier still asks his 
honour's charity, and prays God bless his Reverence 
for the sixpence : the ragged pensioner still takes his 
place by right and sufferance. There 's still a crowd 

1 " At church with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 
And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With steady zeal each honest rustic ran ; 
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, 
And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts his awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

The Deserted Village. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 317 

in the kitchen, and a crowd round the parlour- 
table, profusion, confusion, kindness, poverty. If an 
Irishman comes to London to make his fortune, he 
has a half dozen of Irish dependents who take a 
percentage of his earnings. The good Charles 
Goldsmith 1 left but little provision for his hungry 
race when death summoned him: and one of his 
daughters being engaged to a Squire of rather 
superior dignity, Charles Goldsmith impoverished 
the rest of his family to provide the girl with a 
dowry. 

The small-pox, which scourged all Europe at that 

1 " In May this year (1768), he lost his brother, the Kev. Henry 
Goldsmith, for whom he had heen unable to obtain preferment in 
the church 

. ..." To the curacy of Kilkenny "West, the moderate stipend 
of which, forty pounds a-year, is sufficiently celebrated by his 
brother's lines. It has been stated that Mr. Goldsmith added a 
school, which, after having been held at more than one place in 
the vicinity, was finally fixed at Lissoy. Here his talents and 
industry gave it celebrity, and under his care the sons of many 
of the neighbouring gentry received their education. A fever 
breaking out among the boys about 1765, they dispersed for a 
time, but re-assembling at Athlone, he continued his scholastic 
labours there until the time of his death, which happened, like 
that of his brother, about the forty- fifth year of his age. He was 
a man of an excellent heart and an amiable disposition."-— 
Pkior's Goldsmith. 

" Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee: 
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain." 

The Traveiier. 



318 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

time, and ravaged the roses off the cheeks of half the 
world, fell foul of poor little Oliver's face, when the 
child was eight years old, and left him scarred and 
disfigured for his life. An old woman in his father's 
village taught him his letters, and pronounced him a 
dunce : Paddy Byrne, the hedge-schoolmaster, took 
him in hand ; and from Paddy Byrne, he was trans- 
mitted to a clergyman at Elphin. When a child was 
sent to school in those days, the classic phrase was 
that he was placed under Mr. So-and-so's ferule. 
Poor little ancestors ! It is hard to think how ruth- 
lessly you were birched ; and how much of needless 
whipping and tears our small forefathers had to 
undergo ! A relative — kind uncle Contarine, took 
the main charge of little Noll ; who went through 
his school days righteously doing as little work as he 
could : robbing orchards, playing at ball, and making 
his pocket-money fly about whenever fortune sent it 
to him. Everybody knows the story of that famous 
" Mistake of a Night," when the young schoolboy, 
provided with a guinea and a nag, rode up to the 
"best house" in Ardagh, called for the landlord's 
company over a bottle of wine at supper, and for a 
hot cake for breakfast in the morning ; and found, 
when he asked for the bill, that the best house was 
Squire Featherstone's, and not the inn for which he 
mistook it. Who does not know every story about 
Goldsmith ? That is a delightful and fantastic pic- 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 319 

ture of the child dancing and capering about in the 
kitchen at home, when the old fiddler gibed at him 
for his ugliness — and called him JEsop, and little Noll 
made his repartee of " Heralds proclaim aloud this 
saying — see iEsop dancing and his monkey playing." 
One can fancy a queer pitiful look of humour and 
appeal upon that little scarred face — the funny little 
dancing figure, the funny little brogue. In his life, 
and his writings, which are the honest expression of 
it, he is constantly bewailing that homely face and 
person ; anon, he surveys them in the glass ruefully ; 
and presently assumes the most comical dignity. He 
likes to deck out his little person in splendour and 
fine colours. He presented himself to be examined 
for ordination in a pair of scarlet breeches, and said 
honestly that he did not like to go into the church, 
because he was fond of coloured clothes. When he 
tried to practise as a doctor, he got by hook or by 
crook a black velvet suit, and looked as big and 
grand as he could, and kept his hat over a patch on 
the old coat : in better days he bloomed out in plum- 
colour, in blue silk, and in new velvet. For some of 
those splendours the heirs and assignees of Mr. 
Filby, the tailor, have never been paid to this day ; 
perhaps the kind tailor and his creditor have met and 
settled the little account in Hades. 1 

^"When Goldsmith died, half the unpaid hill he owed to Mr. 



320 ENGLISH HUMOUBISTS. 

They showed until lately a window at Trinity 
College, Dublin, on which the name of O. Goldsmith 
was engraved with a diamond. Whose diamond was 
it? Not the young sizar's, who made but a poor 
figure in that place of learning, He was idle, penni- 
less, and fond of pleasure : 1 he learned his way early 
to the pawnbroker's shop. He wrote ballads, they 
say, for the street-singers, who paid him a crown for 
a poem : and his pleasure was to steal out at night 
and hear his verses sung. He was chastised by his 
tutor for giving a dance in his rooms, and took the 
box on the ear so much to heart, that he packed up 
his all, pawned his books and little property, and 
disappeared from college and family. He said he 
intended to go to America, but when his money was 
spent, the young prodigal came home ruefully, and 
the good folks there killed their calf — it was but a 
lean one — and welcomed him back. 

After College, he hung about his mother's house, 
and lived for some years the life of a buckeen — 
passed a month with this relation and that, a year 



William Filby (amounting in all to 79/.) was for clothes supplied 
to this nephew Hodson." — Forster's Goldsmith, p. 520. 

As this nephew Hodson ended his days (see the same page) " a 
prosperous Irish gentleman," it is not unreasonable to wish that 
he had cleared off Mr. Filby's bill. 

1 " Poor fellow ! He hardly knew an ass from a mule, nor a 
turkey from a goose, but when he saw it on the table."— 
Cumberland's Memoirs. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 321 

with one patron, a great deal of time at the public- 
house. 1 Tired of this life, it was resolved that he 
should go to London, and study at the Temple ; but 
he got no farther on the road to London and the 
woolsack than Dublin, where he gambled away the 
fifty pounds given to him for his outfit, and whence 
he returned to the indefatigable forgiveness of home. 
Then he determined to be a doctor, and Uncle 
Contarine helped him to a couple of years at Edin- 
burgh. Then from Edinburgh he felt that he ought 
to hear the famous professors of Leyden and Paris, 
and wrote most amusing pompous letters to his uncle 
about the great Farheim, Du Petit, and Duhamel du 
Monceau, whose lectures he proposed to follow. If 
Uncle Contarine believed those letters — if Oliver's 
mother believed that story which the youth related of 
his going to Cork, with the purpose of embarking for 
America, of his having paid his passage-money, and 
having sent his kit on board; of the anonymons 
captain sailing away with Oliver's valuable luggage, 
in a nameless ship, never to return; if Uncle 

1 " These youthful follies, like the fermentation of liquors, often 
disturb the mind only in order to its future refinement; a life 
spent in phlegmatic apathy resembles those liquors which never 
ferment, and are consequently always muddy." — Goldsmith. 
Memoir of Voltaire. 

" He [Johnson] said ' Goldsmith was a plant that flowered late., 
There appeared nothing remarkable about him when he was 
young." — Bos well. 

T 



322 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Contarine and the mother at Ballymahon believed 
his stories, they must have been a very simple pair ; 
as it was a very simple rogue indeed who cheated 
them. When the lad, after failing in his clerical 
examination, after failing in his plan for studying the 
law, took leave of these projects and of his parents, 
and set out for Edinburgh, he saw mother, and uncle, 
and lazy Ballymahon, and green native turf, and 
sparkling river for the last time. He was never to 
look on old Ireland more, and only in fancy revisit 
her. 

" But me not destined such delights to share, 
My prime of life in wandering spent and care, 
Impelled, with step unceasing, to pursue 
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; 
That like the circle bounding earth and skies 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies: 
My fortune leads to traverse realms unknown, 
And find no spot of all the world my own." 

I spoke in a former lecture of that high courage 
which enabled Fielding, in spite of disease, remorse, 
and poverty, always to retain a cheerful spirit and to 
keep his manly benevolence and love of truth intact, 
as if these treasures had been confided to him for 
the public benefit, and he was accountable to pos- 
terity for their honourable employ ; and a constancy 
equally happy and admirable I think was shown by 
Goldsmith, whose sweet and friendly nature bloomed 
kindly always in the midst of a life's storm, and rain, 



STERNE A.ND GOLDSMITH. 323 

and bitter weather. 1 The poor fellow was never so 
friendless but he could befriend some one ; never so 
pinched and wretched but he could give of his crust, 
and speak his word of compassion. If he had but 
his flute left, he could give that, and make the 
children happy in the dreary London court. He 
could give the coals in that queer coal-scuttle we 
read of to his poor neighbour : he could give away 
his blankets in college to the poor widow, and warm 
himself as he best might in the feathers : he could 
pawn his coat to save his landlord from gaol : when 
he was a school-usher, he spent his earnings in treats 
for the boys, and the good-natured schoolmaster's 
wife said justly that she ought to keep Mr. Gold- 
smith's money as well as the young gentlemen's. 
When he met his pupils in later life, nothing would 
satisfy the Doctor but he must treat them still. 
" Have you seen the print of me after Sir Joshua 
Reynolds ? " he asked of one of his old pupils. " Not 
seen it ? not bought it ? Sure, Jack, if your picture 
had been published, I'd not have been without it 



1 "An 'inspired idiot,' Goldsmith, hangs strangely about him 
[Johnson]. . . . Yet, on the whole, there is no evil in the 
' gooseberry -fool,' but rather much good ; of a finer, if of a weaker 
sort than Johnson's; and all the more genuine that he himself 
could never become conscious of it, — though unhappily never cease 
attempting to become so: the author of the genuine 'Vicar of 
Wakefield,' nill he will he, must needs fly towards such a mass of 
genuine manhood." — Carlyle's Essays (2nd ed.), vol. iv. p. 91. 

Y 2 



324 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

half-an-liour." His purse and Ms heart were every- 
body's, and his friends' as much as his own. When 
he was at the height of his reputation, and the Earl 
of Northumberland, going as Lord-Lieutenant to 
Ireland, asked if he could be of any service to 
Dr. Goldsmith, Goldsmith recommended his brother, 
and not himself, to the great man. " My patrons," 
he gallantly said, " are the booksellers, and I want 
no others." 1 Hard patrons they were, and hard 
work he did ; but he did not complain much : if in 
his early writings some bitter words escaped him, 
some allusions to neglect and poverty, he withdrew 
these expressions when his works were republished, 



1 " At present, the few poets of England no longer depend on 
the great for subsistence ; they have now no other patrons but the 
public, and the public, collectively considered, is a good and a 
generous master. It is indeed too frequently mistaken as to the 
merits of every candidate for favour ; but to make amends, it is 
never mistaken long. A performance indeed may be forced for a 
time into reputation, but, destitute of real merit, it soon sinks ; 
time, the touchstone of what is truly valuable, will soon discover 
the fraud, and an author should never arrogate to himself any 
share of success till his works have been read at least ten years 
with satisfaction. 

" A man of letters at present, whose works are valuable, is per- 
fectly sensible of their value. Every polite member of the com- 
munity, by buying what he writes, contributes to reward him. The 
ridicule, therefore, of living in a garret might have been wit in 
the last age, but continues such no longer, because no longer true. 
A writer of real merit now may easily be rich, if his heart be set 
only on fortune : and for those who have no merit, it is but fit 
that such should remain in merited obscurity." — Goldsmith. 
Citizen of the World, Let. 84. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 325 

and better days seemed to open for him ; and he did 
not care to complain that printer or publisher had 
overlooked his merit, or left him poor. The Court 
face was turned from honest Oliver, the Court 
patronized Beattie ; the fashion did not shine on him 
— fashion adored Sterne. 1 Fashion pronounced Kelly 
to be the great writer of comedy of his day. A 
little — not ill-humour, but plaintiveness — a little 
betrayal of wounded pride which he showed render 
him not the less amiable. The author of the " Vicar 
of Wakefield " had a right to protest when Newbery 



1 Goldsmith attacked Sterne, obviously enough, censuring his 
indecency, and slighting his wit, and ridiculing his manner, in the 
53rd letter in the " Citizen of the World." 

" As in common conversation," says he, " the best way to make 
the audience laugh is by first laughing yourself ; so in writing, 
the properest manner is to show an attempt at humour, which will 
pass upon most for humour in reality. To effect this, readers 
must be treated with the most perfect familiarity ; in one page 
the author is to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull 
them by the nose ; he must talk in riddles, and then send them to 
bed in order to dream for the solution," &c. 

Sterne's humourous mot on the subject of the gravest part of the 
charges, then, as now, made against him, may perhaps be quoted 
here, from the excellent, the respectable Sir Walter Scott. 

" Soon after • Tristram' had appeared, Sterne asked a Yorkshire 
lady of fortune and condition, whether she had read his book. • I 
have not, Mr. Sterne,' was the answer ; ' and to be plain with you, 
I am informed it is not proper for female perusal.' ' My dear good 
lady,' replied the author, * do not be gulled by such stories ; the 
book is like your young heir there (pointing to a child of three 
years old, who was rolling on the carpet in his white tunics), he 
shows at times a good deal that is usually concealed, but it is all 
in perfect innocence.' " 



326 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

kept back the MS. for two years ; had a right to be 
a little peevish with Sterne ; a little angry when 
Colman's actors declined their parts in his delighful 
comedy, when the manager refused to have a scene 
painted for it, and pronounced its damnation before 
hearing. He had not the great public with him; 
but he had the noble Johnson, and the admirable 
Reynolds, and the great Gibbon, and the great Burke, 
and the great Fox — friends and admirers illustrious 
indeed, as famous as those who, fifty years before, 
sat round Pope's table. 

Nobody knows, and I dare say Goldsmith's buoyant 
temper kept no account of all the pains which he 
endured during the early period of his literary career. 
Should any man of letters in our day have to bear up 
against such, Heaven grant he may come out of the 
period of misfortune with such a pure kind heart as 
that which Goldsmith obstinately bore in his breast. 
The insults to which he had to submit are shocking 
to read of — slander, contumely, vulgar satire, brutal 
malignity perverting his commonest motives and 
actions : he had his share of these, and one's anger is 
roused at reading of them, as it is at seeing a woman 
insulted or a child assaulted, at the notion that a 
creature so very gentle and weak, and full of love, 
should have had to suffer so. And he had worse than 
insult to undergo — to own to fault, and deprecate the 
anger of ruffians. There is a letter of his extant to 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 327 

one Griffiths, a bookseller, in which poor Goldsmith 
is forced to confess that certain books sent by Griffiths 
are in the hands of a friend from whom Goldsmith 
had been forced to borrow money. " He was wild, 
sir," Johnson said, speaking of Goldsmith to Boswell, 
with his great, wise benevolence and noble merciful- 
ness of heart, " Dr. Goldsmith was wild, sir ; but he 
is so no more." Ah! if we pity the good and weak 
man who suffers undeservedly, let us deal very gently 
with him from whom misery extorts not only tears, 
but shame; let us think humbly and charitably of the 
human nature that suffers so sadly and falls so low. 
Whose turn may it be to-morrow? What weak 
heart, confident before trial, may not succumb under 
temptation invincible ? Cover the good man who has 
been vanquished — cover his face and pass on. 

For the last half dozen years of his life, Goldsmith 
was far removed from the pressure of any ignoble 
necessity : and in the receipt, indeed, of a pretty large 
income from the booksellers, his patrons. Had he 
lived but a few years more, his public fame would 
have been as great as his private reputation, and he 
might have enjoyed alive a part of that esteem 
which his country has ever since paid to the vivid 
and versatile genius who has touched on almost every 
subject of literature, and touched nothing that he 
did not adorn. _ Except in rare instances, a man is 
known in our profession, and esteemed as a skilful 



328 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

workman, years before the lucky hit which trebles 
his usual gains, and stamps him a popular author. 
In the strength of his age, and the dawn of his 
reputation, having for backers and friends the most 
illustrious literary men of his time, 1 fame and pro- 
sperity might have been in store for Goldsmith, had 
fate so willed it ; and, at forty-six, had not sudden 
disease carried him off. I say prosperity rather than 
competence, for it is probable that no sum could 
have put order into his affairs or sufficed for his 
irreclaimable habits of dissipation. It must be re- 
membered that he owed 2,000Z. when he died. " Was 
ever poet," Johnson asked, " so trusted before ? " 
As has been the case with many another good fellow 
of his nation, his life was tracked and his substance 
wasted by crowds of hungry beggars and lazy 
dependants. If they came at a lucky time (and be 
sure they knew his affairs better than he did him- 
self, and watched his pay day), he gave them of his 

1 " Goldsmith told us that he was now busy in writing a Natural 
History ; and that he might have full leisure for it, he had taken 
lodgings at a farmer's house, near to the six-mile stone in the Edge- 
ware "Road, and had carried down his books in two returned post- 
chaises. He said he believed the farmer's family thought him an 
odd character, similar to that in which the Spectator appeared to 
his landlady and her children ; he was The Gentleman. Mr. Mickle, 
the translator of the ' Lusiad,' and I, went to visit him at this 
place a few days afterwards. He was not at home ; but having a 
curiosity to see his apartment, we went in, and found curious 
scraps of descriptions of animals scrawled upon the wall with a 
blacklead pencil." — Boswell. 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 329 

money : if they begged on empty-purse days he gave 
them his promissory bills : or he treated them to a 
tavern where he had credit ; or he obliged them with 
an order upon honest Mr. Filby for coats, for which 
he paid as long as he could earn, and until the shears 
of Filby were to cut for him no more. Staggering 
under a load of debt and labour, tracked by bailiffs 
and reproachful creditors, running from a hundred 
poor dependants, whose appealing looks were perhaps 
the hardest of all pains for him to bear, devising 
fevered plans for the morrow, new histories, new 
comedies, all sorts of new literary schemes, flying 
from all these into seclusion, and out of seclusion 
into pleasure — at last, at five and forty, death seized 
him and closed his career. 1 I have been many a 
time in the chambers in the Temple which were his, 
and passed up the staircase, which Johnson, and 
Burke, and Reynolds trod to see their friend, their 
poet, their kind Goldsmith — the stair on which the 
poor women sat weeping bitterly when they heard 

1 " When Goldsmith was dying, Dr. Turton said to him, ■ Your 
pulse is in greater disorder than it should be, from the degree of 
fever which you have ; is your mind at ease ?' Goldsmith an- 
swered it was not." — Dr. Johnson (in Boswell). 

" Chambers, you find, is gone far, and poor Goldsmith is gone 
much further. He died of a fever, exasperated, as I believe, by 
the fear of distress. He had raised money and squandered it, 
by every artifice of acquisition and folly of expense. But let not 
his failings be remembered ; he was a very great man." — Djr. 
Johnson to Boswell, July 5th, 1774. 



•330 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

that the greatest and most generous of all men was 
dead within the black oak door. 1 Ah, it was a 
different lot from that for which the poor fellow 
sighed, when he wrote with heart yearning for home 
those most charming of all fond verses, in which he 
fancies he revisits Auburn — 

" Here as I take my solitary rounds, 
Amidst thy tangled walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view- 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train, 
Swells at my heart, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share, 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose ; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book -learned skill, 

1 " When Burke was told [of Goldsmith's death] he burst into 
tears. Reynolds was in his painting-room when the messenger 
went to him ; but at once he laid his pencil aside, which in times 
of great family- distress he had not been known to do, left his 
painting-room, and did not re-enter it that day 

" The staircase of Brick Court is said to have been filled with 
mourners, the reverse of domestic ; women without a home, with- 
out domesticity of any kind, with no friend but him they had come 
to weep for ; outcasts of that great, solitary, wicked city, to whom 
he had never forgotten to be kind and charitable. And he had 
domestic mourners, too. His coffin was re-opened at the request 
of Miss Horneck and her sister (such was the regard he was % 
known to have for them !) that a lock might be cut from his hair. 
It was in Mrs. Gwvn's possession when she died, after nearly 
se>enty years." — ITorster's Goldsmith. 



f 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 331 

Around my fire an evening group to draw, 

A nd tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 

And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 

Pants to the place from whence at first she flew — 

I still had hopes — my long vexations past, 

Here to return, and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline ! 
Retreats from care that never must be mine — 
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these, 
A youth of labour with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since ' tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches born to work and weep 
Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state 
To spurn imploring famine from his gate : 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
Whilst resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And all his prospects brightening at the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world be past." 

In these verses, I need not say with what melody, 
with what touching truth, with what exquisite beauty 
of comparison — as indeed in hundreds more pages of 
the writings of this honest soul — the whole character 
of the man is told — his humble confession of faults 
and weakness ; his pleasant little vanity, and desire 
that his village should admire him; his simple 
scheme of good in which everybody was to be 
happy — no beggar was to be refused his dinner — 
nobody in fact was to work much, and he to be 
the harmless chief of the Utopia, and the monarch 
of the Irish Yvetot. He would have told again, and 



332 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

without fear of their failing, those famous jokes 1 
which had hung fire in London ; he would have 



1 " Goldsmith's incessant desire of being conspicuous in company 
was the occasion of his sometimes appearing to such disadvantage, 
as one should hardly have supposed possible in a man of his 
genius. When his literary reputation had risen deservedly high, 
and his society was much courted, he became very jealous of the 
extraordinary attention which was everywhere paid to Johnson. 
One evening, in a circle of wits, he found fault with me for talking 
of Johnson as entitled to the honour of unquestionable superiority. 
' Sir,' said he, ' you are for making a monarchy of what should be 
a republic' 

" He was still more mortified, when, talking in a company with 
fluent vivacity, and, as he flattered himself, to the admiration of 
all present, a German who sat next him, and perceived Johnson 
rolling himself as if about to speak, suddenly stopped him, saying 
' Stay, stay — Toctor Shonson is going to zay zomething/ This 
was no doubt very provoking, especially to one so irritable as 
Goldsmith, who frequently mentioned it with strong expressions of 
indignation. 

" It may also be observed that Goldsmith was sometimes con- 
tent to be treated with an easy familiarity, but upon occasions 
would be consequential and important. An instance of this 
occurred in a small particular. Johnson had a way of contracting 
the names of his friends, as Beauclerk, Beau ; Boswell, Bozzy. 

I remember one day, when Tom Davies was telling that 

Dr. Johnson said — ' We are all in labour for a name to Goldy's 
play,' Goldsmith seemed displeased that such a liberty should be 
taken with his name, and said, ' I have often desired him not to 
call me Goldy.'" 

This is one of several of BoswelPs depreciatory mentions of 
Goldsmith — which may well irritate biographers and admirers — 
and also those who take that more kindly and more profound view 
of Boswell's own character, which was opened up by Mr. Carlyle's 
famous article on his book. No wonder that Mr. Irving calls 
Boswell an " incarnation of toadyism." And the worst of it is, 
that Johnson himself has suffered from this habit of the Laird of 
Auchenleck's. People are apt to forget under what Boswellian 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 333 

talked of his great friends of the Club — of my Lord 
Clare and my Lord Bishop, my Lord Nugent — sure 
he knew them intimately, and was hand and glove 
with some of the best men in town — and he would 
have spoken of Johnson and of Burke, from Cork, 
and of Sir Joshua who had painted him — and he 
would have told wonderful sly stories of Ranelagh 
and the Pantheon, and the masquerades at Madame 
Cornely's ; and he would have toasted, with a sigh, 
the Jessamy Bride — the lovely Mary Horneck. 

The figure of that charming young lady forms one 
of the prettiest recollections of Goldsmith's life. She 
and her beautiful sister, who married Bunbury, the 
graceful and humourous amateur artist of those days, 

stimulus the great Doctor uttered many hasty things : — things no 
more indicative of the nature of the depths of his character than 
the phosphoric gleaming of the sea, when struck at night, is 
indicative of radical corruption of nature ! In truth, it is clear 
enough on the whole that both Johnson and Goldsmith appreciated 
each other, and that they mutually knew it. They were — as it 
were, tripped up and flung against each other, occasionally, by the 
blundering and silly gambolling of people in company. 

Something must be allowed for Boswell's " rivalry for Johnson's 
good graces " with Oliver (as Sir Walter Scott has remarked), for 
Oliver was intimate with the Doctor before his biographer was, — 
and as we all remember, marched off with him to *' take tea with 
Mrs. Williams " before Boswell had advanced to that honourable 
degree of intimacy. But, in truth, Boswell — though he perhaps 
showed more talent in his delineation of the Doctor than is 
generally ascribed to him — had not faculty to take a fair view of 
two great men at a time. Besides, as Mr. For ster justly remarks, 
"he was impatient of Goldsmith from the first hour of their 
acquaintance." — Life and Adventures, p. 292. 



334 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

when Gilray had but just begun to try his powers, 
were among the kindest and dearest of Goldsmith's 
many friends, cheered and pitied him, travelled 
abroad with him, made him welcome at their home, 
and gave him many a pleasant holiday. He bought 
his finest clothes to figure at their country house at 
Barton — he wrote them droll verses. They loved 
him, laughed at him, played him tricks and made 
him happy. He asked for a loan from Garrick, and 
Garrick kindly supplied him, to enable him to go to 
Barton — but there were to be no more holidays, and 
only one brief struggle more for poor Goldsmith — a 
lock of his hair was taken from the coffin and given 
to the Jessamy Bride. She lived quite into our time. 
Hazlitt saw her an old lady, but beautiful still, in 
Northcote's painting-room, who told the eager critic 
how proud she always was that Goldsmith had ad- 
mired her. The younger Colman has left a touching 
reminiscence of him. Vol. i. 63, 64. 

" I was only five years old," he says, " when 
Goldsmith took me on his knee one evening whilst 
he was drinking coffee with my father, and began to 
play with me, which amiable act I returned, with the 
ingratitude of a peevish brat, by giving him a very 
smart slap on the face : it must have been a tingler, 
for it left the marks of my spiteful paw on his cheek. 
This infantile outrage was followed by summary 
justice, and I was locked up by my indignant father 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 335 

in an adjoining room to undergo solitary imprison- 
ment in the dark. Here I began to howl and 
scream most abominably, which was no bad step 
towards my liberation, since those who were not 
inclined to pity me might be likely to set me free for 
the purpose of abating a nuisance. 

"At length a generous friend appeared to extricate 
me from jeopardy, and that generous friend was no 
other than the man I had so wantonly molested by 
assault and battery — it was the tender-hearted 
Doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, 
and a smile upon his countenance, which was still 
partially red from the effects of my petulance. I 
sulked and sobbed as he fondled and soothed, till I 
began to brighten. Goldsmith seized the propitious 
moment of returning good-humour, when he put 
down the candle and began to conjure. He placed 
three hats, which happened to be in the room, and a 
shilling under each. The shillings he told me were 
England, France, and Spain. < Hey presto cocka- 
lorum ! ' cried the Doctor, and lo, on uncovering the 
shillings, which had been dispersed each beneath a 
separate hat, they were all found congregated under 
one. I was no politician at five years old, and there- 
fore might not have wondered at the sudden revolu- 
tion which brought England, France, and Spain all 
under one crown ; but, as also I was no conjuror, it 
amazed me beyond measure From that 



336 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

time, whenever the Doctor came to visit my father, 
f I plucked his gown to share the good man's smile ; ' 
a game at romps constantly ensued, and we were 
always cordial friends and merry playfellows. Our 
unequal companionship varied somewhat as to sports 
as I grew older ; but it did not last long : my senior 
playmate died in his forty-fifth year, when I had 

attained my eleventh In all the numerous 

accounts of his virtues and foibles, his genius and 
absurdities, his knowledge of nature and ignorance 
of the world, his ( compassion for another's woe' was 
always predominant; and my trivial story of his 
humouring a froward child weighs but as a feather 
in the recorded scale of his benevolence." 

Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like — 
but merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. 
He passes out of our life, and goes to render his 
account beyond it. Think of the poor pensioners 
weeping at his grave ; think of the noble spirits that 
admired and deplored him; think of the righteous 
pen that wrote his epitaph — and of the wonderful 
and unanimous response of affection with which the 
world has paid back the love he gave it. His humour 
delighting us still : his song fresh and beautiful as 
when first he charmed with it : his words in all our 
mouths : his very weaknesses beloved and familiar — 
his benevolent spirit seems still to smile upon us : to 
do gentle kindnesses : to succour with sweet charity : 



STEKNE AND GOLDSMITH. 337 

to soothe, caress, and forgive : to plead with the 
fortunate for the unhappy and the poor. 

His name is the last in the list of those men of 
humour who have formed the themes of the discourses 
which you have heard so kindly. 

Long before I had ever hoped for such an audience, 
or dreamed of the possibility of the good fortune 
which has brought me so many friends, I was 
at issue with some of my literary brethren upon a 
point — which they held from tradition I think rather 
than experience — that our profession was neglected 
in this country; and that men of letters were ill- 
received and held in slight esteem. It would hardly 
be grateful of me now to alter my old opinion that 
we do meet with goodwill and kindness, with gene- 
rous helping hands in the time of our necessity, with 
cordial and friendly recognition. What claim had 
any one of these of whom I have been speaking, but 
genius ? What return of gratitude, fame, affection, 
did it not bring to all ? 

What punishment befel those who were unfortunate 
among them, but that which follows reckless habits 
and careless lives ? For these faults a wit must 
suffer like the dullest prodigal that ever ran in debt. 
He must pay the tailor if he wears the coat; his 
children must go in rags if he spends his money at 
the tavern; he can't come to London and be made 



338 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

Lord Chancellor if he stops on the road and gambles 
away his last shilling at Dublin. And he must pay 
the social penalty of these follies too, and expect 
that the world will shun the man of bad habits, that 
women will avoid the man of loose life, that prudent 
folks will close their doors as a precaution, and 
before a demand should be made on their pockets 
by the needy prodigal. With what difficulty had 
any one of these men to contend, save that eternal 
and mechanical one of want of means and lack of 
capital, and of which thousands of young lawyers, 
young doctors, young soldiers and sailors, of inven- 
tors, manufacturers, shopkeepers, have to complain ? 
Hearts as brave and resolute as ever beat in the 
breast of any wit or poet, sicken and break daily in 
the vain endeavour and unavailing struggle against 
life's difficulty. Don't we see daily ruined inventors, 
grey-haired midshipmen, balked heroes, blighted 
curates, barristers pining a hungry life out in 
chambers, the attorneys never mounting to their 
garrets, whilst scores of them are rapping at the 
door of the successful quack below ? If these suffer, 
who is the author, that he should be exempt? Let 
us bear our ills with the same constancy with which 
others endure them, accept our manly part in life, 
hold our own, and ask no more. I can conceive of 
no kings or laws causing or curing Goldsmith's 
improvidence, or Fielding's fatal love of pleasure, 



STERNE AUD GOLDSMITH. 339 

or Dick Steele's mania for running races with the 
constahle. You never can outrun that sure-footed 
officer — not by any swiftness or by dodges devised 
by any genius, however great ; and he carries off the 
Tatler to the spunging-house, or taps the Citizen of 
the World on the shoulder as he would any other 
mortal. 

Does society look down on a man because he 
is an author ? I suppose if people want a buffoon 
they tolerate him only in so far as he is amusing ; 
it can hardly be expected that they should respect 
him as an equal. Is there to be a guard of honour 
provided for the author of the last new novel or 
poem? how long is he to reign, and keep other 
potentates out of possession ? He retires, grumbles, 
and prints a lamentation that literature is despised. 
If Captain A. is left out of Lady B.'s parties he 
does not state that the army is despised : if Lord C. 
no longer asks Counsellor D. to dinner, Counsellor D. 
does not announce that the bar is insulted. He is 
not fair to society if he enters it with this suspicion 
hankering about him ; if he is doubtful about his 
reception, how hold up his head honestly, and look 
frankly in the face tbat world about which he is 
full of suspicion ? Is he place-hunting, and thinking 
in his mind that he ought to be made an Ambassador, 
like Prior, or a Secretary of State, like Addison ? 
his pretence of equality falls to the ground at once : 

^ 2 



340 ENGLISH HUMOURISTS. 

he is scheming for a patron, not shaking the hand 
of a friend, when he meets the world. Treat such 
a man as he deserves; laugh at his buffoonery, and 
give him a dinner and a bonjour ; laugh at his self- 
sufficiency and absurd assumptions of superiority, 
and his equally ludicrous airs of martyrdom : laugh 
at his flattery and his scheming, and buy it, if it's 
worth the having. Let the wag have his dinner and 
the hireling his pay, if you want him, and make a 
profound bow to the grand homme incompris, and the 
boisterous martyr, and show him the door. The 
great worldj the great aggregate experience, has its 
good sense, as it has its good humour. It detects a 
pretender, as it trusts a loyal heart. It is kind in 
the main : how should it be otherwise than kind, 
when it is so wise and clear-headed? To any 
literary man who says, (S It despises my profession," 
I say, with all my might — no, no, no. It may pass 
over your individual case — how many a brave fellow 
has failed in the race, and perished unknown in the 
struggle ! — but it treats you as you merit in the main. 
If you serve it, it is not unthankful ; if you please, 
it is pleased ; if you cringe to it, it detects you, 
and scorns you if you are mean ; it returns your 
cheerfulness with its good-humour; it deals not 
ungenerously with your weaknesses ; it recognises 
most kindly your merits ; it gives you a fair place 
and fair play. To any one of those men of whom 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH. 341 

we Have spoken was it in the main ungrateful? A 
king might refuse Goldsmith a pension, as a pub- 
lisher might keep his master-piece and the delight 
of all the world in his desk for two years ; but it 
was mistake, and not ill-will. Noble and illustrious 
names of Swift, and Pope, and Addison ! dear and 
honoured memories of Goldsmith and Fielding ! 
kind friends, teachers, benefactors ! who shall say 
that our country, which continues to bring you such 
an unceasing tribute of applause, admiration, love, 
sympathy, does not do honour to the literary calling 
in the honour which it bestows upon you ! 



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22. THE EVE OF ST. MARK: A Romance of Venice. By Thomas Doubleday. 

23. ARROWS IN THE DARK. By the Author of " Said and Done." 
2 4. ADRIAN L'E->TRANGE; or, Moulded out of Faults. 

25. THE COTTON LORD. By Herbert Glyn. 

8% A SIMPLE WOMAN. By the Author of "Nut-Brown Maids," &c. 

27. SKIRMISHING. By the Author of " Cousin Stella," " Ouce and Again," &c. 

28. FARINA : A Legend of Cologne. By George Meredith. 

29. NORMANTON. By the Author of " Araberhill ; or, Guilty Peace." 

30. WINIFRED'S WOOING. By Georgiana M. Craik. 

31. THE SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; An Old English Story. By Talbot Gwynne. 
32.- LENA; or, The Silent Woman. By the Author of " Beyminstre." 

33. PAUL FERROLL. By the Author of " IX. Poems by V." 

34. ENTANGLEMENT ?. By the Author of " Mr. Arle," " Caste," &c. 

35. BEYMINbTltE. By the Author of " Lena ; or, The Silent Woman." 

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1. CONFIDENCES. Ey the Author of " Carr of Carrlyon, &c." 

2. ERLESMERE; or, Contrasts of Character. By L. S. Lavenu. 

3. NANETTE AND HER LOVERS. By Talbjt Gwynne. 

4. LIFE AND DEATH OF SILAS BARNSrARKE. By Talbot Gwynne. 

5. ROSE DOUGLAS; the Autobiography of a Scotch Minister's Daughter. 

6. TENDER AND TRUE. By the Author of "Clara Morison." 

7. GILBERT MASSENGER. By Holme Lee. 

8. THORSEY HALL: A Story of an Old Family. By Holme Les. 

9. MY LADY : A Tale of Modern Life. 

!0. THE CRUELEST WRONG OF ALL. By the Author of " Darkest before Dawn." 

1 1. LOST AND WON. By Georgiana M. Craik. 

12. HAWKSVIEW: A Family History of our Own Times. By Holme Lee. 

13. COUSIN STELLA; or. Conflict. By the Author of " Once and Again," &c. 

14. FLORENCE TEMPLAR. By Mrs. F. Vidal. 

15. HIGHLAND LASSIES; ou, The Roua Pass. By Erick Mackenzis. 

16. WHEAT AND TARES : A Modern Story. 

17. AMBERHILL; or, Guilty Peace. By A. J. Barrowcliffe. 

18. YOUNG SINGLETON. By Talbot Gwynne. 

19. A LOST LOVE. By Ashford Owen. 

20. MY FIRS T SEASON. By the Author of " Charles Auchester." 

21. THE WHITE HOUSE BY THE SEA. By M. Betham-Edwards. 

22. THE EVE OF ST. MARK: A Romance of Venice. By Thomas Doubleday 

23. ARROWS IN THE DARK. By the Author of " Said and Dons." 

24. ADRIAN L'ESTRANGE; or, Moulded out of Faults. 

25. THE COTTON LORD. By Herbert Glyn. 

26. A SIMPLE WOMAN. By the Author of "Nut-Brown Maids," &c. 

27. SKIRMISHING. By the Author of " Cousin Stella," ".Once and Again," &c. 

28. FARINA: A Legend of Cologne. By George Meredith. 

29. NORMANTON. By the Author of " Amberhill ; or, Guilty Peace." 

30. WINIFRED'S WOOING. By Georgiana M. Craik. 

31. THE SCHOOL FOR FATHERS ; An Old English Story. By Talbot Gwynne. 

32. LENA ; or, The Silent Woman. By the Author of " Beyminstre." 

33. PAUL FERROLL. By the Author of " IX. Poems by V." 

34. ENTANGLEMENTS. By the Author of " Mr. Arle," " Caste," &e. 

35. BEYMINSTRE. By the Author of " Lena ; or, The Silent Woman." 

36. COUNTERPARTS; or, TnE Cross of Love. By the Author of " Charles 

Auchester," &,c. 

37. LEONORA; or, Fair and False. By the Hon. Mrs. Maberly. 

38. EXTREMES. By Emma Willsher Atkinson. 

39. AN OLD DEBT.' 

40. UNCLE CROTTY'S RELATIONS. By Herbert Glyn. 

41. GREY'S COURT. Edited by Lady Chatterton. 

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